Sweet My Child
by Harmonious Cannons
Summary: A failing marriage becomes the least of Ron and Hermione's worries when they are thrown into the past in the aftermath of a tragedy. Unsure of themselves, and trying not to succumb to grief, they decide to be parents to the best friend they ever had. Post-epilogue. No Cursed Child. ADULT R/H in a "do the best we can with what we have" situation.
1. Chapter 1

**Disaster**

A/N: This is post-epilogue, and then Time Travel. The Cursed Child thingy doesn't exist. There is definitely no Weasley bashing. As usual Malfoy is a villain. And we see the side of Ron that the books suppressed – the Ron that would stand against carnivorous spiders, supposedly crazed ex-prisoners, Death Eaters, and the like. Rowling said that Ron and Hermione would need counselling. That is a premise used. The younger pairings may be different, but that is because they mean nothing till the epilogue. My personal OTP is RW/LL. However, this will remain an adult R/Hr, with nothing M-rated. Word count will remain less than 7k, often less than 2k. I will write this once I am done with Put into Lifetime Detention by Death.

* * *

The red-haired man was sitting once again in the Hog's Head, going through what was now his fourth glass of whiskey of the evening. The barman sat patiently as his customer, went through his daily ritual of just drinking, drinking and drinking till he forgot his own name. The barman would then take pity on his former dorm-mate, apparate him home and leave a dose of the sobering potion by his table, while the man's wife watched in disapproval from her room. Yes. That was the absolutely ballsed-up situation that the barman, Seamus Finnegan, found his friend Ronald Weasley in.

"Why did you really marry her, Ron?" Seamus asked at long-last, giving air to the question he had had since he no longer remembered how long ago.

"I don't know anymore, Seamus," slurred Ron. "I thought we were in love. We were so much in love, and then we weren't. There was that war, and then, and then...I don't know anymore." He pensively stared into the glass from a side. "Nothing I do is ever good enough, mate. Everything is inferior. It was exciting when we were younger. Now it's hell. We only agree to disagree all the time." Alcohol did make Ronald Weasley, generally a man of few acerbic, true and often hurtful words, strangely eloquent.

"Doesn't Harry help?"

"We should have both married him, you know?" Ron replied drunkenly. "Tell me mate, is it normal to miss your best mate more than your wife?" he asked and then giggled. He took a swig of his drink. "He could sort us both out within minutes. The fun in fighting lasted till we realised that it was all him doing the peacekeeping duties. But he's got his own kids, and now that Ginny..." he ended in a hiccupping sob.

Ginny, his younger sister and Harry's wife, had died the year before, just after her youngest had left for Hogwarts. Her year under possession had finally caught up with her. Harry was devastated. Even now, decades after his death, Voldemort still managed to hurt his family. It was about the only thing Ron and Hermione found common ground on of late.

As Ron's grief passed, he drank all the whiskey in one long gulp.

"I once heard Harry telling Ginny that he was afraid of you and Hermione."

Ron sprayed the whiskey onto the wall behind Seamus in shock. "What?"

Seamus simply nodded. "It was something to do with his Aunt and Uncle."

A shudder of revulsion ran through Ron at the very mention of those animals. Once when they had sat drinking on the anniversary of the battle of Hogwarts, remembering all those whom they had lost while the rest of the world celebrated a vicarious victory, Harry had broken down and told him about his life before Hogwarts. It was a very good thing that Ron was too drunk to know his wand from his chair.

Then another shudder made him realise what Seamus was referring to. Harry's Aunt and Uncle fought far too often. Petunia was not qualified enough for many jobs, having married due to pregnancy at the age of nineteen. Her affair with Vernon was in rebellion against her parents accepting Lily's world and her relationship. Vernon, to whom Petunia was just a casual fling, had many indiscretions to his name outside the house. They used to fight and fight, and overcompensate for their son by pampering him too much, and then again by abusing and neglecting Ron's best friend.

And Harry had spent his time with them being afraid of him and Hermione because they fought. It was why he always took things lying down around them, and tried his best to calm them down. Deep down, the scared little child had never left his friend. It made Ron feel even more disgusted with himself.

And that was before the faces of his children swam before him. Did Hugo and Rose feel the same way? Was that why they always liked their Aunt and Uncle better, but were always subdued at home? Had he ever raised a hand on them in anger? Had he hurt them or his wife? He sobbed more. He was a failure as a father too. He couldn't loathe himself more in that moment.

"I think I will go home now, Seamus."

In spite of it being against his business to not ply Ron with more alcohol, Seamus nodded approvingly as Ron staggered away to the door.

Things, however, were brewing, once more.

Ron never even managed to raise his wand in defence when a hooded figure stunned him and portkeyed away. Miles away, his wife, Hermione, returning from work, suffered the same fate.

* * *

Molly Weasley was worrying a bone. Harry had still not returned from wherever he had gone to, to find what happened to his two best friends. She was here alone with the grandchildren, whom Neville had sent home having heard about the news directly from his friend.

"Granny, is Dad back home?" It was James, Harry's eldest son. He was so like his namesakes in nature, and had inherited a very strong protective instinct and brooding nature from his father and grandfather. He frowned at the clock. It still showed his father, his uncle and aunt, and all of them in fact, to be facing mortal peril.

"No," she replied tersely. She was worried. She had lost her daughter the year before, and she knew the tensions between her youngest son and his wife. It was all a mess. They all had seemed so happy once. She often wondered whether they had all paired off a bit too easily, and too conveniently and most importantly, _too fast_. War had made them all desperate, and their perceptions about people and the world had been altered and not necessarily for the best. The worst thing about those fights was the fact that it scared the children. How many times had she seen Rose smiling and being a joyful girl around her as compared to her parents?

"Haven't they even sent a letter?"

"No, James," Molly replied. "It's just like the first war against You Know Who," she remarked absently. "People disappearing all of a sudden..."

Suddenly the clock pinged as Harry's hand moved briefly to travelling, before resting at the Dray, Ron and Hermione's home. Then it instantly swung back to mortal peril. Another ten minutes into that interminable wait, the hand swung to the Burrow, and Harry appeared, looking as tired and troubled and weary as he usually did, these days. "Nothing new," he said simply in answer to the unasked question. Molly nodded unhappily. Ron and Hermione had vanished without a trace, and even Harry, one of the best investigative Aurors in the Ministry, had found only spell traces to prove that they had been attacked.

"I'll set the table Harry. You need to eat," she ordered sternly. Harry had always been less a son-in-law and more a son to her.

They had no warning as a massive explosion ripped through the house. "Everyone out!" ordered Harry. "James, stay here and get your grandmother and all the cousins you can find here." He shot multiple person detection charms to find out anyone who was in the building. With a clenched heart he realised that Albus was dead, as was Rose. They never made it out of the room they were working on their homework in.

He had to leave them be for now.

"Dad?" asked James uncertainly.

"Albus and Rose can't come," Harry answered shortly.

"No!" gasped Molly as she realised what Harry was saying, her eyes tearing up.

James on the other hand, squared his shoulders set his jaw, and with his wand in his hand, marched towards his father. "We are going to find them and kill them," he stated simply.

"We won't need to find them son," Harry replied, grimly, pointing towards the garden and the pond where several people dressed in a garb he hadn't seen for over fifteen years had gathered. "They are already here."

"Hello Potter," a snide voice called out.

"Malfoy," said Harry in reply. "Still murdering children I see."

"Did I get the mudblood's children or just yours?"

Harry replied with a flurry of Piercing curses which caught eight of Malfoy's fourteen-member group in the throat.

"Yours, then," Malfoy accepted unaffectedly.

"Both mine, and Ron and Hermione's for the record," Harry bit out tersely, as he dived out of the path of a killing curse. When he took out the man who had cast that curse, and Malfoy still wasn't bothered, Harry realised they were in a horrible situation. "How many people have you got?"

Malfoy did not answer. He didn't need to. Another explosion started at the top of the Burrow and rapidly descended, sending the children and Molly scurrying out.

"You know, in many parts of the world, they smoke the rodents out of the Burrow," the fiend replied, chortling at his own joke.

It was enough to ignite Harry's temper, who in turn sent a flame of cursed fire, a step less than Fiendfyre in that it was controllable, but still a dark Curse, at Malfoy. It was of such ferocity, that it took several casts of a smoke spell and sand conjuring to get it off him. Also, Harry had his throat slit, and he saw his family murdered in the same instant as he fired that curse, but he died knowing that he did Malfoy lasting damage. He still had one last message for his friends, if they were alive. He knew they would get it, if they were alive. There was only one person who could have harmed or at least captured them and that was Malfoy.

In the dirt outside the house he had loved as long as he had known it, Harry wrote just two words: SORRY HR. He was sorry that he hadn't done enough to protect his two godchildren, just as he had failed to protect his own children.

* * *

Ron had only little cognisance of the past six days beyond the understanding that he had been stunned, kidnapped and kept in a drugged state. When he was roughly dragged to his feet, and then some potion was shoved down his throat, Ron came to with a sudden jerk and very highly activated senses.

He also realised that his wife was keeping him company.

"Ron!" she desperately called.

"Hermione!" he called back. "Where are we? What is going on?"

"I suppose I can answer that."

"Malfoy," snarled the two in unison.

"Yes. Potter too recognised me immediately."

"What are you doing you imbecile? What did you do to Harry? Why are we here?"

"Patience, mudblood," Malfoy replied. "I wanted Potter here just as I wanted you here. Unfortunately, I underestimated a man with almost nothing to lose." He dropped his cloak, revealing his horribly disfigured and burnt face. "I have since learnt that going to personally receive him, at the Burrow, was not very wise."

The words struck terror into Ron and Hermione's hearts.

"I suppose I will allow you to remember him as a good friend." He signalled to the man behind him. "He died trying to protect your mother, Weasley. Your mother, your children and your niece and nephews," he added with a sneer.

The man Malfoy had signalled to, projected a memory of what happened at the Burrow, showing them the disaster, and the final apology their friend made. Hermione choked a sob as she saw her children's dead bodies.

Malfoy allowed them to ruminate over the picture. "It gives me great pleasure to destroy your lives this way. Then again, I sowed the seeds way back in 1996."

"What do you mean?" spat Ron. He felt hatred and sincerely wished that Harry's curse had done the job.

"My big plan to kill Dumbledore," recounted Malfoy. "I knew you three would immediately be on my tail. Potter had sussed it out, and you two, the good little sidekicks, were sure to follow." He grinned at them. With a face that now reminded one of Harvey Two-Face, it seemed doubly grotesque.

Hermione gasped.

"Ah, the mudblood realises," Malfoy sneered. "Did you never think why, after years of believing Potter, you suddenly disbelieved his insistence that I was a Death Eater? All I had to do was keep confounding you both from hidden alcoves."

The eyes of the two prisoners dimmed as they remembered the year before the year in hell.

"Finally, I got so irritated; I just ended up putting compulsion spells on each other. Your entire married life was a lie."

"You are an idiot, Malfoy. No spell or potion can engender enough love to get people to marry. Certainly not for people to remain married for as long as we have been, no matter any disagreements," Hermione replied.

"I know that mudblood. At the very least, you cared for each other. You were the three best friends, willing to trust each other with everything you had, in spite of Weasel's indiscretions, insecurities and jealousies. It stood to reason that you would fall for one or the other. My doing what I did worked to tear the three of you apart. I really hoped Potter would die too."

"Your plans still failed."

"They can be successful now."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on Weasley. You don't think I brought you here to gloat did you?" He pointed his wand at them. "You and Potter were to be the sacrifices that would send me back in time, as I am, body and all. I shall be the Dark Lord's greatest commander, greater than even my father was. My people have readied the ritual. I only need to ensure the sacrifice."

He silenced the two and dragged them through the halls to the chamber which his people had been readying.

They might have had several fights. They might have been on outs. But the two were still the best friends who were part of a trio, and worked together instinctually. They also had too much practice with working without plans, and sometimes even without objectives.

Even though they were tied, they were still stronger than a still recuperating Malfoy. Ron broke the spell Malfoy had on them and jumped onto Malfoy. That was enough time for Hermione to snatch Malfoy's wand. They now had Malfoy captive.

"Are you going to kill me mudblood? You must know that my death has a trigger in my house? Everyone will die."

"We shall have our revenge at least."

The thing that they were required for was a ritual requiring human sacrifice. Hermione was sure that Malfoy was insane for there surely couldn't be such a ritual. She no longer had anything to live for, so she decided to go ahead. And Malfoy, weak as he was, in spite of his delusions of superiority, had quite forgotten that it went both ways. As he died, the chamber lit up and then all that the couple knew was light.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Window to the Past**

It was forever, or just a second, nobody knew. All that the red-haired man and the brunette knew was they were awake and in some desolate field. They were completely disoriented.

"Ron?" Hermione called nervously.

"Any idea where we are?" he asked in return.

She shook her head and stood up to get her bearings. And then she froze. Standing just a little north of her position was a famed British legend.

"We are in Wiltshire. Somehow, we are near Stonehenge."

"Can we use magic?" wondered he out loud, drawing his wand.

"No!" she cried. "Don't use it."

"Why?"

"Because...because I think the ritual might have worked."

"What?"

She nodded. Ron stared at her. He had not counted on being alive, and by the look of things, neither had she. They had not expected to live, nor had they wanted to. Yet they were. An instant later, they were in an embrace, as they broke down, grieving for their family and their children. It was only five minutes later that they broke apart.

"What do we do now?" Ron asked. They had all always depended on Hermione to know everything.

"We have to get out of here. If that ritual has worked, there must have been a magical backlash which the Unspeakables might have detected."

"And we need to find out the time."

"That as well," she agreed. "There are always tourists here," she reasoned. "We have to blend in."

They ran and hid. The plan worked – almost too well. There was a close shave as they saw, and ignored the apparition of two grey-cloaked figures from their position in the group of tourists they had infiltrated, en route to Salisbury. They took a rest only at the train station.

"What do we do _now_?" she wondered as they sat down.

"We buy a ticket."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione, you were brought up as a muggle. Think why! We shall find a date on the ticket." They were certainly still not in their proper minds, for otherwise they would have seen the several boards proclaiming the date.

She looked at him in astonishment. As usual, it made him defensive. "Just because I used magic to pass my driving tests, doesn't mean I am stupid."

"I didn't say you were!" she started warningly. "I was just surprised. It is you who immediately take offence!"

"Can we fight later?"

Hermione speared him with one last look of anger. "We need to plan," she declared shortly.

"Yes. To start with, which train should we take to get closest to the Burrow?"

"We can't go there Ron," Hermione countered.

"Why?" He demanded in irritation. "If we go there now, and it is before 1994, we can get Pettigrew!" It was a wonder that Ron had his priorities so straight. "It will put off so many problems!"

"Ron, it looks like summer, right now. We don't know whether the year is before or after 1991. Either way, your younger self will be there. You will go mad. And, since we have shared magic during marriage, I can't go either."

Ron sat back slumped and dejected. "We need to go to someone who will trust us, who will not get freaked out, and who we can trust."

"That leaves only two options."

"Harry and Hogwarts," he answered.

"Should we take a train to Surrey?"

"It depends. If this isn't post 1991, Harry might not freak out. If it is, he might think we are Death Eaters. In that case we will have to go to London and floo from the Leaky Cauldron to Hogsmeade."

Ron nodded and got up to buy them a ticket. Then he stopped with a stricken look on his face. "I can't face him," he told her in a low voice. "If he is a kid, he will look like, like..."

"He will look like Albus." The thought hurt her. It brought memories of her children and then her niece and nephews and then her best friend who had died defending them all. Then the very idea of Harry being that small made her smile. And then immediately, it made her very angry. "If he is that small, Ron, we have to meet him. We can't leave him **_there_**!"

It took Ron a moment to come to a decision. "No," he agreed. "We can't."

For a while, neither of them moved. They were still in shock over everything. Five minute cries of grief didn't drive it away. They doubted that they would stop grieving for the rest of their lives.

"SHIT!" Ron hissed angrily. "We aren't going anywhere there. We are going to set Malfoy Manor on fire first! I am going to kill that little son of a bitch."

Hermione was shocked by the vitriol. "He might be only a child!"

"And so were Rose and Hugo," he snarled back. "So were James, Lily and Albus. He murdered them all."

In another life, under other circumstances, she would have been dissuaded. But just those names were enough to cause an eruption of hatred. She nodded. "You are right. But we must wait. The Unspeakables are already on our trail."

Ron really hated it when she used logic sometimes. He left to get a ticket.

"It is the fifth of August 1984."

"Percy goes to Hogwarts three years from now."

"You really are fixated on the Rat."

"I am. He revived Voldemort. He must be the first to go."

"But at the moment we need other things Ron. Please. Think straight. We must get new wands."

"I don't have mine."

"I don't either."

"Then why did you stop me back at that place?"

"It was on reflex."

He just huffed in annoyance.

The journey to Surrey passed in absolute silence. Finding Little Whinging thereafter was not a big problem. Just outside the house, Ron stopped Hermione. "Are you sure?"

She impaled him with a glare. "Of course I am."

"No. I don't think you are. If we take Harry from here, where to do we take him? Don't you think Dumbledore will know? Do you have any money on you? He is a four year old right now. He won't be fussy, but he will still be a child. How are we going to feed him? Now that we have come into the past, what are we going to do? What for? We have nothing to look forward to. Our children are dead. We are children, Hermione. Are we going to leave him alone if we do decide to take care of the problem of Voldemort? Are you sure you can handle children, **_now_**?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "I don't know Ron. I can think of only one thing at moment. I can't let him stay with them."

In that moment, Ron knew that Hermione had zero objectivity where Harry was concerned. Hermione, the woman who planned and executed the Horcrux Hunt, could not think straight about anything else where Harry's safety and his happiness were concerned. He was sure that she was only looking at the child who would grow up to be her best friend. Then again, he doubted Hermione was thinking at all. She was probably working like an auto-whatever. If they did take Harry in, she would end up going mad in the process, for she hadn't grieved yet. She did love the children, as much or more likely more than she ever loved him. He snorted at the irony of being the one doing the thinking instead of her.

That said, though, he himself couldn't let Harry remain there for a moment more. But he needed to be sure of himself first. He had failed his friend too many times before. He couldn't afford to let that happen now. As a child, Harry would be entirely dependent on them. He wasn't yet sure whether he was ready to live a day more. They needed help. Hogwarts was obvious. But that wasn't useful, right now. He didn't want to face Dumbledore, not before he destroyed Malfoy Manor. Or preferably, he didn't want to face him at all.

It took him a long time to come up with the solution. Then again, Remus was long dead as he remembered him. But he was the only trustworthy person left who could help.

He looked doubtfully at the house. Were they ready? Was he ready to suddenly have his children die and then become the father figure to his best friend? If he did decide not to rescue Harry now, till he was sure of the arrangements, was **_he_** consigning his best mate to hell for however long it took, for his own good? Was he ready to work in this time, saving those who had died as he remembered? Destroying Malfoys was important for him. If that accursed book was there, it too would be destroyed. How many things would he be changing? If he did decide to help in this time, how many things should he be changing?

Dumbledore had once urged everyone to what was right rather than what was easy. Well, that bloody well wasn't easy to decide when he didn't know what the right thing to do was, was it?


	3. Chapter 3

Mr Lupin,

Our letter to you may come as a surprise if what we remember is right. We invoke the names of the true Marauders, and we would like you to know that one of those whom you remember with great fondness is actually up to **_no good_**. It is necessary for us to meet **_immediately._** We need to meet Dumbledore eventually, but as we are now, we can only hope he does not kill us on sight. **_We solemnly swear that we_** **_are_** not Death Eaters. A grave treachery has muddled the circumstances of the Potters' deaths. We shall be at The Leaky Cauldron this evening at five. Look for a redhead and a brunette.

Yours truly,

Friends of Harry Potter

P.S.: Vermin need to be eliminated, not commemorated.

If there ever was a more ominous letter for Remus to read in the run up to a full moon, this was it. Whoever these people were, they **_knew_** about the Marauders' Map. They wanted to meet Dumbledore, but were not in the correct state to do so. And then they had invoked the one name that would make Remus move heaven and earth. And then there was that post-script.

It took Remus barely a moment to come to a decision. It might be a trap, but for Harry, he would risk at least that.

###

"I still don't like the idea of leaving Harry," grumbled Hermione. She was hugging herself as they sat on the train to Surrey. Things were difficult. Between them they only had two hundred and fifty pounds as Hermione's credit cards were in the purse that she had been divested of. Much of the available money was being spent on travel. Even if she'd had the cards, they would be useless in the here and now. Even the cash was dodgy. Even though Her Majesty was still the Queen, the notes had changed in the thirty six years. As it was, it was only Ron's presence of mind which had him talking to the vendor, some passive Legillimency and the texture of the note that helped pass of the perfectly original note which was a counterfeit in the time they were in, as a real one.

Ron took a deep, fortifying breath. "Hermione, please understand. We don't have any resources with which to help him. Are we going to love him like our own, but starve him?"

Hermione looked balefully at Ron, before her eyes started tearing up. "I just need to have that feeling of a mother, Ron," she whispered. "I keep seeing Rosie and Hugo and...and...we weren't there for them," she sobbed. "Harry was there for us as we needed him Ron. I need him as a son!"

"Hermione," Ron replied in a curt, cutting tone. "Harry is not a pet, a teddy bear or a replacement for our children. If we are to help him, it must be for the right reasons!"

Yes. Twenty years of being Hermione's boyfriend and then husband, of bearing a simmering hatred for the Death Eaters and Voldemort, seventeen years of seeing Aurors often take action for wrong reasons, and twenty seven years of being a part of the golden trio had helped promote Ron from a teaspoon to a soup ladle. Unfortunately, the soup ladle had a leak of its own, and therefore he was not truly able to put up with Hermione. He was grieving too and yet had to keep his head.

About the only good thing, if one could call it that was that the constant travelling through the day had kept the "there is nothing for us to live" thoughts at bay. He would not admit it himself, but Ron too was using Harry as an anchor of sorts. While he thought of the kid, it was easy to not think of everything else. He was sure that he was going to break down soon, but till then...

After a stiffly distant train ride with a changeover, they alighted at Charring Cross road before waiting silently for Remus. Tom had never seen people even pretending to be waiting for someone, or not knowing each other sit in his bar without a word passing between them for nearly two hours. They looked like a couple on the outs, and he knew better than to interfere, or ask them to move at a low-footfall hour.

It was at sharp five when Remus arrived and Ron and Hermione were not so difficult to spot. The Weasley red was rather distinctive and Hermione was also the only brunette in the place. Remus knew he was not fooled when he saw more than just recognition in the woman's eyes, in spite of them being bloodshot. She had certainly been crying. He approached the table in as unobtrusive a manner as he could muster, and sat down with them. The first words from the man threw him.

"Hello Moony!" Ron greeted absently.

"What?" Remus hissed. "What did you call me?"

Ron's eyes widened as he realised his mistake. "We need to talk, Remus. Just not here, believe me. When we are done, you get to decide what to do."

Remus took his time to reach a decision. "I want your wands."

"Apart from our clothes and some money, we have nothing on us. Please. We need your help, and we trust you."

"We will leave by floo. I will go first, and you shall follow. Beware, I am a werewolf and close to the full moon, my senses are even keener than usual. Try anything and I will kill you."

"You do that and we probably might thank you," shot back Hermione.

"If you have any such designs to incriminate me as a werewolf, I would rather not invite you home, obviously."

Ron shot Hermione a very dirty look. There was only so much he could do without her having her brains on track. "We are not. Just listen to us."

Ten minutes later, they woke up groggily, tied to chairs. The last that the two remembered was exiting through the floo, before Remus stunned them both.

"Speak," Remus commanded shortly.

"Are you out of your fucking mind? Harry is at the Dursleys, with Lily's sister, at this moment getting beaten up!" screeched Hermione. "What the hell do you think you are doing tying us up when we need help rescuing him?"

It effectively threw everyone off their tracks, but it was effective nonetheless. It blew up Ron's plan to break things to Remus gently, but it was right on the man's pulse point, so it got the job done.

"What? How do you know that? How did you find out? I have been searching for him for so long!"

"Then listen to us first!" Ron forcefully ordered. Remus sat down heavily and nodded.

"May I?" asked Ron, more for his wife's benefit.

"Go on," she agreed resignedly.

"Before you tell me anything, I must ask. You aren't Lily and James are you?"

"What gave you that absurd idea Remus?" snapped Hermione.

"Nothing. Just wanted to confirm what I knew. I've been watching you since four fifteen. You certainly don't share their vibe," he observed. "You seem to fight too much."

"We do," agreed Ron.

"Well, it was your letter. You referred to..."

"...the Marauders' Map? To M/s. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs?" asked Hermione. "Yes. Since we used that thing for five years, yes."

"What the hell are you on about?"

"My name is Hermione Granger...Weasley. This is my husband Ronald Weasley."

"Any relation to the Weasleys of Ottery St. Catchpole?"

"Yes, I'd say so. It just so happens that I am Arthur and Molly Weasley's youngest son, best friend and brother-in-law to Harry Potter, or to be precise, our Harry Potter, and also his Auror partner. Oh, I also was a fun Uncle to his godson, your future son, and your former student."

Remus grew more enraged as Ron spoke that out. "How dare you? How dare you mock me? Have I not got enough problems that people like you find out about me and...?"

"YOUR PROBLEMS MEAN NOTHING, REMUS! YES YOU ARE A WEREWOLF. YES YOU DON'T HAVE A JOB! FUNNY THING IS THOSE ARE ONLY TWO THINGS! WE HAVE JUST BEEN THROWN THIRTY BLOODY SIX YEARS INTO OUR PAST, JUST AFTER WE SAW OUR CHILDREN, MY NIECE AND NEPHEWS – HARRY'S CHILDREN, AND MY BEST MATE BEING MURDERED BY A FIEND WE SHOULD HAVE NEVER LET GO! YOUR TRUE BEST MATE SIRIUS BLACK IS LANGUISHING IN AZKABAN FOR A CRIME HE NEVER COMMITTED, WHILE WORMTAIL IS CURRENTLY LIVING AT THE BURROW AS A FAMILY PET! AND AS MY WIFE TOLD YOU, HARRY IS GETTING BEATEN! SO QUIT IT!"

So much for a tactical revelation.

"Ron," Hermione said quietly. She had known that this outburst was coming. It was not in Ron's nature to stay calm – certainly not for as long as he had been. "Moony doesn't know. He can't know of that ritual. There's no use getting angry at him. He is the only one we can trust without putting him or getting ourselves into danger."

"BUT HE...!"

"I know."

The three stared at each other for nearly five minutes. Or rather, Remus glared at the pair who glared back.

"You are not lying, are you?"

"No."

"Oh good lord! I am sorry. I am really, really sorry!" he murmured, struck by what he had heard. "Please, tell me everything. Everything you remember."

And after another minute of a glare, they did. By the end, Remus had fetched them tea, the strongest beverage he had to offer.

"I am really sorry about your children, Ron, Hermione. I am."

They nodded.

"At the moment, I don't know what to do, really. All I can see is Sirius is innocent, Pettigrew is hiding and Harry is getting hurt."

"We need help, and we don't know what help we need. The point is we were – are – both under five. We remember nothing. Even the muggle money we have..."

"That is a unique set of problems. What do you want to do first?"

"I want to burn Malfoy Manor to the ground, destroy all the reachable Horcruxes and free Sirius, before being done with things," Ron answered tonelessly.

"And I want to do all those things, but don't want to abandon Harry."

"The way I see it, Sirius won't let Harry go once he is free. We give him the family and then return to our own," countered Ron.

Remus looked at the witch doubtfully. Her husband was right. Then again, Ron had seen this behaviour three of the five times he had delivered the bad news to an Auror's widow, widower or parents.

"Well, I think you need wands first."

"And we haven't got the money for them."

"Well, I can make rudimentary wands. Often, if I have one on me while transforming, it breaks. So it was a necessary skill."

"That has to count for something."

"Then I can go to the Burrow and buy Peter..."

"Yes. That would be so wonderful. "Excuse me, Mrs. Weasley, I am Remus Lupin and I like buying pet rats from eight year olds." Perfect, really. You were supposed to be the brains of the Marauders, Lupin," Ron scoffed. Then he blinked as he realised that he, at forty, was still looking at Remus Lupin, aged twenty-four, as his teacher.

"Well, if he really is the pet rat, your family are in danger, Ron. Who knows what he might do to you, particularly while he holds Voldemort's wand and his own and who knows what else?"

"A compulsion spell on Pettigrew to appear in front of Mad-Eye Moody, perhaps?" Hermione suggested. "Just to attack Mad-Eye? Maybe he can be found with a list of people to attack?"

"A capital idea," agreed Remus. "We just need to find out how to get to him."

"Do you know if Molly and Arthur were in the Order before?" Hermione asked.

"No. They were having their youngest...I mean you...uh...Ron."

Ron smiled wanly. He looked dead on his feet as did Hermione.

"Now, don't get me wrong, you two," Remus started cautiously. "But, how long are you going to act as if everything is okay?"

"We aren't," answered Ron. "Unless Hermione doesn't face things, we are just going to get things done and go to our family."

"I have faced things! I have faced everything including Bellatrix's Cruciatus and her carving invectives into my skin!"

Ron walked up to her and squatted down on one knee. "Can you look me in the eye and say you are done?"

"..."

"Can you?"

"Can you, Ron?"

"No. But then I know what I am looking forward to. You are ignoring that pain that is tearing you apart. We may not be what we once were, Hermione, but I do care about you, and I did love our children, you know."

Hermione gasped several times as she looked as if she had been slapped. And then she buried her face in her hands and sobbed and wailed her heart out. It was horrible to watch, and even more horrible for Ron because she was being tempestuous still. Hermione worried him. Both he and Harry, who had known this woman the longest, knew that she hid herself behind anger quite too often. Ron wanted to do exactly what she was doing, and that attempt to hide from Remus was something that had come from not seeming weak next to his brothers. He had never allowed himself to be weak in front of others, especially his brothers. That sort of anger, sorrow, and in fact any true emotion, was reserved for his two best friends, he realised with a mirthless snort. It was funny how they were _his_ more than his own family, so often.

It all came down to Malfoy. Fucking Malfoy. He wouldn't let them live and he wouldn't let them die either. He never knew when they both dozed off.

Remus looked at them all pensively. Ron wanted to do something that was so quintessentially Sirius. As if taking the Malfoys out of the equation would really help. Though taking the four year old Draco Malfoy away seemed fair. In fact, killing what was necessarily an innocent child, versus nurturing it seemed a no-brainer. Perhaps between them, the Light-Siders could prove the marked Death Eaters as Dark Creatures and invalidate any guardianship of their children? That was for later though. Right now, he was presented with a problem that normal _magicals_ didn't believe could exist. He needed to help them solve this problem somehow, particularly since they had told him where Harry was...

He sighed. What was he thinking? How did these become his problems? How come he had bought in to their story so quickly? Of course, it was Harry. It was all a simple life he was living, finding a new job every few months, working and looking for Harry on weekends, and hating Sirius in his free time. Now these people brought to him information he no longer knew what to think of. They needed help to know what they needed, and then more help to get what they needed. Wonderful.

Well, while they were asleep, he at least had a way to verify. And since Mad-Eye was one of the few who bothered to keep in touch, well, at least he would have help helping them. Plus, since rats lived only three or four years, and the Weasleys had one for just about three, apart from the sanitary scrupples, not many questions would be asked, **_if_** the Rat was Petttigrew.


	4. Chapter 4

**Malfoys, and Harry**

 **A/N: Warning: Violence and Child Abuse. Thanks to all followers and favourite-list-adders, and to Gemcatcher who has been with this story from the start, Happy Terrier, Gouyimi, avid reader (guest), Cassandra30, morring star, Arnie100 who have all reviewed.**

* * *

The animagus form of their friend, Remus decided in retrospect, should have been a dead giveaway. As it was, he felt really no guilt when he cast spells onto the rat, undoubtedly Wormtail, whom he had stolen from the Weasleys. It was only a simple compulsion to attack Mad-Eye as was planned. Just to err on the side of caution though, he decided to write a menacing enough note for the paranoid Auror.

 _Alastor,_

 _You're already dead. You just don't know it. All you ever had to do was put enough rat-traps._

 _Sincerely,_

 _The Man on the Moon._

Salvaging the letters off the Prophet was inspired.

The whole drama did work out flawlessly. A bit too flawlessly, in fact. It was only after he was done did he realise that he was absent from his home. For three hours. A home where two time-travelling people, one of whom felt especially murderous, while the other was being especially maternal. And both knew how to get to their destination. Particularly through public floo networks.

Wonderful.

He apparated home post-haste, fearing that he would find it empty. His fears, it seemed, were unfounded. Hermione was still sleeping. So was Ron. At least that was how he appeared. Remus breathed out a sigh of relief.

And then a phoenix Patronus flew in through the home, speaking with the voice of Albus Dumbledore, inviting him to Hogwarts.

* * *

It was, in Remus' opinion, a very funny thing. He was meeting Dumbledore _knowing_ what the man wanted to say before Dumbledore did. It seldom – alright, never – happened. Or so he thought.

"Come in Remus," the man said gravely.

"You called, Headmaster?"

"I did. Care for a sherbet lemon? I find the sweet and sour taste a glorious contradiction when I have a lot to think."

"No. Thank you, sir."

"Tea, perhaps?"

Remus knew exactly what Dumbledore was up to. Not Veritaserum, no. But he would slip him a babbling potion. That was how he had gotten them to confess to their larger pranks.

"I have just been to the Leaky Cauldron, sir. I doubt that this was a social call."

Dumbledore nodded and sighed. "Something has happened today, Remus that has me questioning so many 'facts' as we knew them since that Halloween night."

"May I ask what has happened?"

"Indeed. I am quite sure you know that Sirius..."

"What of the traitor?" Remus asked harshly.

"That is the 'fact' I am required to reconsider, Remus," Dumbledore gently.

"What?"

"I am sure that it must come as a shock," Dumbledore temporised, gazing at Remus over his half-moon glasses. "Two events occurred today in the space of three hours."

"Two?" was Remus' immediate response, but he curbed it to instead ask, "What happened?"

"The Malfoy Manor was cinders, with its occupants still inside. There was a message to the world, and for me."

"For you?"

"Yes. You see, Malfoy Manor was burnt down, after all the doors and windows were sealed. The wand used was Narcissa Malfoy's."

"That's how the Death Eaters did it."

"That observation is quite on the mark, Remus, and especially important, given the messages."

He retrieved his pensieve and a memory from his head. "Please see for yourself."

And Remus did. High up in the sky was something he had not seen for years. The Dark Mark. And beside it were words that struck anger and terror in Remus' heart. "The Dark Lord shall return, and loyalty will be rewarded. Mine above all, for now I know where the Boy-Who-Lived lives."

"Dumbledore!" shouted Remus. "What do we do now?"

"I must ask first, Remus. Did you find out where Harry lives? Have you attempted to rescue him in any manner?"

"You ordered me not to!" Remus snarled. "You have kept me away and you are asking me whether I have endangered him?"

"It was not my intention."

"I don't care. Wherever Harry is, he is in danger. Please just...just do something. Anything!" he beseeched.

That apparently did help make Dumbledore's mind.

"I believe I have somewhat good news on that account."

"You do?"

"I do. It was why I was talking about Sirius – not Sirius Black the supposed traitor, but Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. Another old friend of yours, Remus, thought to be dead, re-emerged. Quite spectacularly, I might add."

"Who?"

"The person we all long believed to be the victim of Sirius' wrath – Peter Pettigrew."

"He is dead, Dumbledore."

"Well, the person in Alastor's captivity certainly is Pettigrew, certainly isn't dead, and certainly is a Death Eater, as evidenced by the Dark Mark on his left forearm."

Remus acted fabulously well to display the flabbergasted man who didn't know which way was up.

"How?" It was all he gasped.

"Alas! It seems we were all hoodwinked. I am about to start every proceeding to help free Sirius. Now, more than ever, Harry needs his godfather."

The sheer number of invectives and abuses Remus mentally hurled Dumbledore's way would have made a sailor blush. The man was unbearable. In that moment, Remus had seen past the smokescreens of the man who pretended to care. Or was insane. After all, no person who negated the two previous thoughts would behave in Sirius' and Harry's case – the order being interchangeable at any moment – as reprehensibly as Dumbledore had done.

Was it time? Perhaps it was. A retrospective look at Dumbledore's actions, often taken by the persona that every person seemed to be in awe of, almost always tended to paint him as a villain. That was something they knew he wasn't, so Remus had to be careful.

Then again they **_knew_** that Harry was safe and Sirius was the traitor.

"Well, please have it done fast."

"That was my intention. In the meanwhile, Remus, I need you to search for a suitable muggle home for Lily's sister."

"He was with her?" Remus asked, goggling at the man. "Are you insane? They hated each other! Petunia sent Lily a letter wishing "she never bred and produced more freaks like her!" You left him with her?"

"Really, Remus; that must have been petty animosity." Senility, obviously.

"If she has hurt him, I am going to break your nose."

Dumbledore had the audacity to chuckle.

"We shall meet them soon. Sirius will be freed in the next couple of days."

"I will get you an appointment in St. Mungo's just in case."

* * *

"You know how to cast a Dark Mark?"

"Yes," Ron admitted lazily as he bounced a rubber ball against the wall rhythmically. "We learnt that from an escaped Death Eater. We sent Mad-Eye another letter to ensure he is caught and scandal is avoided."

"You drew his attention?"

"No. A dead Ministry worker did."

"So you are not a Death Eater?"

"Are you fucking serious? No, you fuckwit."

"Yet you feel nothing about the fact that you murdered a child?"

"What are you talking about?" snapped Hermione. "We never murdered the little shit, as much as we wanted to – just his parents."

"You helped him?"

"Ron **_is_** my husband, and they _were_ my kids," she reminded acidly.

"What did you do?"

"Young Draco Malfoy might have found himself on a boat to the Netherlands with absolutely no memory of his parents, his language or magic," she replied quite simply.

"Isn't that cruel?" Remus desperately argued.

"Not as much as murdering children," Ron pointed out. "He will be well-cared for. It's funny no? There will be a muggleborn Malfoy in Europe."

The werewolf was unable to get his head around the whole thing. He was just frantic. "Why did you do it?"

"I knew I had to," Ron replied with affected nonchalance. "There's nothing to tie me to it."

"You acted as if you were asleep!" Remus was attempting to evoke some emotion from the automaton-like man and woman.

"So? I doubt you'd have let us go," Hermione defended. "Look. It's done. There is one, or four less foul things in the world. Please. Let it be."

Remus had nothing to say really. So he changed the subject.

"They are releasing Sirius tomorrow. We might go to meet Harry."

Ron did not catch the ball as it returned. Hermione looked away from the book she held upside down and was pretending to read.

"I want to," Hermione said at last.

"But he might recognise us. Later on, I mean."

"Plus Dumbledore will be there," Remus pointed out.

"Maybe we can go now? Just give him some hope?"

"He will know. Dumbledore I mean."

"Let him. I have a few things to say to him."

"Let's go then."

And so they left, with Remus deciding to join in just to ensure they didn't get into too much trouble.

* * *

None of them was really prepared for the sight that met them. It was late evening, and the trespassers, who had managed to get to the back of the house (except for Remus, who was keeping watch), were having a horrid time as they watched through the kitchen window.

They watched in shock as a little Harry Potter (Merlin, when had he been so little?) was about to start cleaning up some dishes. Yes. A four-year-old kid was attempting to clean some dishes by hand, as a hateful, spiteful woman stood watch.

"He looks so small," Hermione remarked, having trouble going in there and lifting the little boy and making a run for it. "When was he last given anything to eat?"

The little boy attempted spiritedly to keep hold of the soapy dish. He looked with his large green eyes at the woman in a very timid manner. The dish was so large for his hands.

"Well, get on with it!" the woman snarled.

Little Harry dutifully returned to his job. Ron's supposedly non-existent heart broke for his best mate. This was how Harry had grown up. He knew he had had to help his mum with chores, but Petunia Dursley wanted the little boy to do the dishes. What wouldn't he give to just grab him, as his twelve year old self had done for the twelve year old version of this boy, and escape? His reverie was broken when the soapy crockery slipped from his hand and fell with a resounding crash.

"You utterly useless freak!" screamed Petunia shrilly. She advanced upon the boy and grabbed a dirty skillet out of the sink. "What did I tell you? You had to earn your keep, not make things worse! Why couldn't my bitch of a sister have died and taken you with her?"

Time froze for the two hiding adults as the skillet found Harry's back, before it dropped onto the floor. They watched the morbid scene, frozen, as Petunia proceeded to slap the now whimpering boy across his face and his back, before physically dragging him and throwing him into his cupboard.

Was it any wonder that Dark Lords so hated muggles? Ron turned to see Hermione attempting to break the door down. She never could see him hurt and at the moment, Petunia Dursley, and knowing what Vernon did to Harry, he as well, jumped to join Voldemort at spot number one on their common hate-list.

Ron wished he would have a blast of accidental magic, or wandless, or anything. Unfortunately, this wizard magic was warded off by the wards Dumbledore had set for Harry's protection. It turned out that they worked against physical aggression and ill-will against any resident of the house. It was a pity that they never took into account the idea that hurt could come from within.

At long last Hermione gave up and sat down before giving in to her tears and sobs. Ron tried to remain stoic, but couldn't hold it in anymore as he felt the full brunt of failure hitting him again.

Inside, Harry Potter cried in pain.

Outside, Remus Lupin hoped that nothing went wrong, and Dumbledore hadn't made so ghastly a mistake after all. For the dark creature warded away, that was all he could do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Break and Burn**

 **A/N:** There are parts that _**may seem like Dumbledore bashing**_. That will be resolved in the next chapter, since I wanted it to end where it did. Both Ron and Hermione make big mistakes. That will be tied up later too. Explicitly un-mild swearing is included here.

* * *

Patience was never really Ron's strong suit. The same went for objectivity and control, to go with patience, for Hermione where Harry was concerned. As such Bellatrix Lestrange would've had stiff competition as far as the urge and the ability to torture muggles was concerned. It caused the woman to shudder. There were non-magical people like her parents, and then there were muggles, the murdering, anti-magical-genocidal sort that Slytherin hated. The Dursleys were definitely muggles.

They waited for Vernon Dursley to return. Once Remus had heard from them, he had not even attempted to gainsay their decision to kidnap Harry right then and there. It was only by exercising tremendous control that he managed to get his lupine side under control at all. Moony did not take kindly being lied to, or seeing a child of his heart of not his blood being savaged. Wolves rear cubs as a pack, after all.

It was therefore, easy for Remus to conjure a very, _very_ pointed knife and hand it to Ron to use on Dursley while Hermione went after the kid and the muggle Death Eater that lived in that seemingly normal house of horrors. The redheaded future Auror (now disguised in a way to eerily resemble a close relative of both James Potter and Lily Evans) and his emotionally estranged wife (disguised to resemble a fairly taller Amelia Bones) had made forays into crime since their return to a past of happy memories for them, but which ultimately led to disaster. Bereft of any semblance of a plan and unmindful of many consequences, they were throwing boulders into the time stream, causing splashes which could affect more than anyone knew.

Once the behemoth of a man (in an unhealthy way; Hagrid was a behemoth too) slammed the door of his car and retrieved his bag, he was accosted.

Once thrust of Ron's hand would have seen Dursley bleeding onto the pavement, probably, but then again, how many times had he and Harry been in such a situation where one of them had been the bait which squeezed information while pretending to be a victim, and the other used such tricks to get in and bomb out the captors' plans? Dursley almost squealed, but for the punch to his temple that discombobulated him.

"If you value your life, muggle, you will let us in."

"FREAKS!" hissed Dursley harshly, only to have the knife poke him harder. There was still enough control to ensure that Dursley wasn't actually hurt, for Ron had to ensure that he held no intention to hurt Dursley. If he failed at that, they would lose their only chance to gain entry that night as the wards would rebuff them, and there was no knowing what would await the child in the house. None of the three held high hopes having seen Petunia in action.

"You do realise that not even the old fool will know if you do die, don't you? He has guarded you against magic, but not muggle weapons. Just take us inside, muggle, without any cleverness, give us the boy and we might even spare you."

Remus gave Ron a look that clearly conveyed his observation that Ron was getting a bit too good for comfort at speaking and behaving like a Death Eater. Hermione's smile from his other side was heartening however, and Remus was summarily ignored.

Vernon Dursley was a man of spectacular surprises when angered, though. He swung around suddenly with his own hand fisted and was about to deliver a punch to Ron's gut that would surely at least have knocked him down, if not out. Fortunately, Remus was faster and stronger still and caught the flying fist in an iron grip, tightening his hold with an equally dangerous expression. "Don't try that, muggle."

Dursley's narrowed eyes bugged out and twitched and he gave up the fight. Within the next two minutes, Ron and Hermione were within the Dursley house, attempting to glare the adults into submission. Hermione rushed to the cupboard under the stairs where Harry had been locked in, pounding desperately to ensure he was at least able to answer. A muffled "I am sorry for the dish Aunt 'Tuni!" was enough for her for the time being.

"You freakish bitch!" swore Hermione, making her husband stand down immediately as he marvelled at her. Years upon years of sharing the "Brilliant, but scary!" description of this incensed woman with his best mate had given him a sense about when to stand back and watch the show.

On their part, Vernon and Petunia blanched at the vitriol. And, at their own words being thrown back at them.

"You freakish bitch!" reiterated Hermione. "You hurt a child, your own nephew? How dare you? I should cut you up and feed you to hungry wolves! Open the damn door, you filthy scum-sucker, or I shall kill you with my bare hands!"

During her ranting, Petunia was inching towards a small side-cupboard and retrieved a greenish-pale-yellow paper from it. The two temporally displaced people should have been more paranoid then they had been, really, and certainly more vigilant. All Petunia had to do was tear the paper and a flash of light followed, resulting in all magicals ending up in a body bind.

A whooshing sound barely seconds later showed them the face of the man they had grown to dislike, if not hate, for the most part.

"You told us no freaks would find us!" snarled Vernon.

Dumbledore eyed him imperiously causing the man to subside. A couple of waves of his wand had the two bound magicals tied to a chair.

"Who are you?"

Over the years, this trusted figure had taken a severe beating among the Potters and the Weasleys over the decade just before the destruction of their lives. None of those alive had ever truly forgiven him, in spite of the name given to the youngest Potter child. That name had actually sprung from a droll statement by Harry as soon as he had seen the perfect copy of himself in his wife's arms: "He is going to be the death of me."

Dumbledore had done what was apparently needed to save the magical world. But it had cost too many too much, and as they eventually found out, those who needed punishment never got it. It was not the secrets, the manipulations for the bigger picture or whatever else. It was the fact that Dumbledore had never raised a wand in defence of the children, barring the fiasco in the fifth year.

He had made children fight. He had left them with no information, floundering as they shouldered the weight of the world. He was lauded in public, but he had lost respect among those who were considered his successors.

Ron glared back. Hermione though was angry. Very angry.

"Ah...the great murderer himself has arrived," taunted Hermione. "Planned to murder a child, recently?"

Dumbledore was taken aback. The man was keeping calm, actively using Occlumency. The woman though...she hated him. And not in the way Voldemort hated. No. This was righteous hatred. He was having trouble getting his head around it.

"Don't look so shocked, Albus. We know. Arianna, your sister was your first victim. Then all the children you allowed to be murdered, first by Grindelwald and then by Voldemort... Don't think we don't know."

And they did, in a way, Dumbledore realised. He had never forgiven himself for Arianna's death. But to be blamed for the rest...?

"Who are you?" he asked again.

"I will tell you what. Untie my hands, and I will show you exactly what I am." Behind her back, Hermione actually had managed to loosen the ropes a bit.

"As amusing as you may find it all, I must know why you are here. Who do you work for? What do you want?"

He had not expected the woman to laugh a cold, ringing, mocking laugh, a sound so bitter that it made me cringe.

"I will tell you a secret Dumbledore. I know you want to kill Harry because of his scar."

It rocked the old man onto his heels and virtually stunned him. That was enough for the quiet, tied down magical man, who had managed to get this feet, jump and crash into Dumbledore. If a few of the old man's bones broke...well, Ron was not going to be bothered by that. As it happened, the flying tackle divested Dumbledore of his wand – **_the_** wand. When the toppling chair and man then crashed onto the wand-hand of Albus Dumbledore, it broke his fingers, and the wand. That dissolved the chairs and the ropes into nothingness.

As it happened, Petunia was shrieking and Vernon was growling. As if they mattered anymore.

"Ron!" Hermione cried as she rushed to her husband's side, checking him for any injury as she helped him up. Ron was alright, really, but he played it up a bit. Hermione hadn't actually behaved in such a way in years, and he was going to milk the moment a bit.

Harry chose the moment to remind them of his presence. "Aunt Tuni ? What's going on?"

There was something close to concern and fear in that little voice that Ron had to grab onto Hermione to prevent her from once more attempting to open the door with her bare fists.

"That's Harry," croaked Dumbledore. "I can hear his voice. Where have you kept him?" he demanded from his position.

At last, Ron spoke. "You know, I think you are really, properly senile," he seethed. "You see that, Hermione? This is what a wilfully blind man, who was blind to his **_best_** friend's behaviour, who murdered his sister, who murdered James and Lily, who let Death Eaters go and live to spread their hate and money and continue to kill children even decades later, and who imprisoned both Sirius and Harry in their hells, looks like." Then he blinked. "Wow, that was a good summary if I say so myself."

"It is, indeed," agreed his wife as she bent down and picked the pieces of _the_ Wand. "Well you certainly did better. The wand's destroyed. I suppose we can get Remus and Sirius to burn it?"

"You're the brains," Ron shrugged. "If you think it's necessary, that's good for me."

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked again. "What do you know? How do you know?" His voice now had a very pleading quality to it.

"You know, when you told Harry to pity the living, I doubt you had you in mind. But you are pitiable," Hermione spat. "We are the power he knows not. We are the love that Harry needs and deserves. We are the people who love Harry Potter. But I doubt the great Albus Dumbledore can comprehend that. You have never loved anyone. How would you know? You are incapable of it." She stepped away from the prone man, retrieved the conjured knife and grabbed Petunia angrily. "Open the door, now."

It was a command in the most inflectionless voice she had. It had the Dursleys scurrying. The door was unlocked. Out of the cupboard came a scared child. She couldn't stop herself. The knife clattered to the floor as she approached him.

Harry stared at her, more than a bit scared. It was something she had never seen. It hurt. She kneeled in front of the child, their eyes now level.

"Hi Harry."

Harry shuffled as he looked at her uncertainly. He then looked around the room. Aunt Tuni and Uncle Vernon were scared. An old man was lying on the floor looking at them. He didn't seem angry like Uncle Vernon. He didn't seem happy or sad or hurt or anything else either. The other man was smiling at him, but was also angry, but not at him.

The woman though, she was sad, and happy and hurt and angry all at the same time. She was also crying.

"Why are you crying?"

Hermione gave a watery chuckle. Even at four, Harry would ask after them first.

"Because I am happy, Harry."

He looked at her in confusion and then at the man who had come closer.

Ron knew that it was wrong, really. This was technically his best mate, after all. But he couldn't help but think the kid was cute.

Hermione, feeling the confusion being about to be verbalised, pre-empted it. "We are happy because we have finally found you, Harry."

"You were looking for me?" The naked hope in his voice was almost too much.

"Yes," answered Ron.

"Are...are you my mummy and daddy?"

That did it for Hermione. She gathered him in a hug, mindful of the step back that he took, fearing a strike but ignoring it. Clutching him close to her, she answered sadly, "No Harry."

"Oh." The disappointment was back.

For Ron, the sight of the two was enough to break his resolve. "If you'd like it though, we would love to be your new mummy and daddy, Harry."


	6. Chapter 6

**The planting of the Family Tree**

 **Thank you for your reviews: Mally1942, WizardingWhovian, Arnie100, morring star, Cassandra30, Gemcatcher, AzureAlquimista.**

 **Thank you followers and favouriteers.**

* * *

Wandless as they were, Ron and Hermione still had the upper hand on Dumbledore. Years upon years of using the accursed Elder Wand had made the old man forget about the Willow and Unicorn Hair wand he had bought at Ollivander's at the age of eleven. It sat in insulting disuse in a case in his office. So as such, all the Ron had to do was haul his old headmaster to his feet. If that hurt Dumbledore, and if they ignored his injuries, it was no water off his back. That's what the old codger had done to Harry anyway, and he had not cared enough about people to eliminate the arrested Death Eaters. His sympathy was too low to speak of.

Dumbledore whimpered in pain as he was unceremoniously dumped onto the Dursleys' sofa. "Why?" he moaned piteously. "Why are you here? Who are you? What are you going to do?"

Hermione had, by now, gathered all of her precious new little child's precious belongings, most of which were broken toys and torn teddies that had been thrust into his hands after his monstrously large cousin was happy having destroyed them. She had lifted him into her arms, freezing slightly before completing the action. He had been the last to protect her children – with his life – even though it was in vain. The act of lifting the child, just for the closeness and comfort it should have brought her, instead made her choke a sob as she remembered the feel of having Rose and Hugo in her arms. And having Harry in her arms reminded her of the all-consuming dread she had felt that day when it was claimed that they had won. She had never been able to look at Hagrid without remembering him as the man who held the dead body of her best friend.

And it was all this old man's fault.

"You should be happy. We are going to redeem you, murderer," she spat at him in a vitriolic manner. Dumbledore couldn't muster the energy to even blanch at that accusation before she continued, "Do you see this little boy, Dumbledore? He is mine. He isn't yours to do as you please. He isn't yours to raise him like a pig for slaughter, to make him feel like he isn't worth anything. Ideally, I would rather that you just die and leave us to clean up your mess. It will be easier that way."

"Hermione!" gasped her husband, giving Dumbledore a name for this woman who hated him. "We are to be good role models!"

Hermione looked at Ron's face and saw the smirk that lurked beneath the scandalised expression. She smiled at him. "Right you are."

Ron took over from there. "You needn't bother with our identities, old man." He drew Harry closer to him. "You see this old man, Harry? This is what you shouldn't be like."

"Why?"

"Because when you become like this old man, you start hurting people for no good reason, you forgive bad people for no good reason, and you generally think that you are better than everyone else, again for..."

"...no good reason," Harry dutifully completed. "So he is a bad man."

"No. He is not a good man."

That bewildered the little boy. How could a not good man be not a bad man? His perplexity was very visible on his face.

Ron saw the broken crayon case that was in the transparent plastic bag Harry held. Retrieving a black crayon and a white one, he coloured bits of paper.

"This is black, Harry. And this is white." Harry nodded seriously, which with the natural innocence of the four-year-old, looked very adorable. Ron then coloured black over white, making the paper grey. "Most people are like this. People are both good and bad. They have to choose to be something. Some choose to be more 'bad' and some choose to be more 'good'." He then showed several shades of grey. "See this darker grey here? This old man chose to do more 'bad' for what he thought were good reasons."

Hermione looked approvingly at her husband. It had been that way since Rose and Hugo were born. Ron was not more of a theory-learner. He understood analogies and practical stuff better. It had occurred to her then that he perhaps was unable to cope with the usual methods and needed different methods. He had performed admirably as a part of the DA because Harry, the very boy Ron was explaining the concepts of good and bad to, had explained not the theory but the feeling of the magic. It was a pity. The magical world realised neither Harry's skills as a teacher nor Ron's needs as a person who was unable to learn conventionally.

It was an important lesson, moreover, that the young boy was being imparted.

"Does that mean everybody is like this?"

"Yes. Your aunt and uncle are more like this," Ron explained, darkening the page further. "They still love their own son, so they have at least a bit of white."

"So nobody is completely good and we can choose to be better."

"Excellent Harry!" praised Hermione, pleased. "Now we are going to go away from here. There is someone who will meet you tomorrow. This someone was your Daddy's friend. There is another friend waiting outside."

"Okay!" Harry happily complied.

Dumbledore was dumbfounded by this. These people knew about Sirius and Remus. So essentially, these people knew about Peter too. He couldn't quite get his head around it all.

Hermione took Harry out of the house. It was something irritating, once more, for Ron to note that Harry was given no consideration by the Dursleys who sneered and grimaced at him as he clutched Hermione's hand and waved goodbye to them. The little boy tried and failed to hide his sadness and confusion at this latest rejection. How long had he hoped to be just not unwanted? He staved off a sudden blurring of his eyesight, even as his throat constricted, as he remembered that night he had abandoned them, and more importantly implied that Harry had no family. It then almost turned to a dry, self-deprecating chuckle as he counted another failure in his long personal list of failures as a person.

He gazed at the two people who were _his_. This was why they were here, he realised, as Hermione crouched near Harry and kissed his cheek and said something, probably an offer of an ice-cream if his surprised and then exultant face was anything to by, before leading him out of the house.

This left Ron to face Dumbledore. He stared at the offending man for a minute before drawing his fist and punching Dumbledore squarely on the nose, breaking it. It was a long time coming.

"Now listen, you twit. That boy is mine and Hermione's, Sirius' and Remus' to protect. Don't try and find us out. I know much of your sordid past. I will do anything to protect him, even from you. If that takes destroying your reputation, such as it is, I will do that too."

Dumbledore, still clutching his nose, gasping for breath, and with watering eyes, could only jerk his neck.

"I want Tom Riddle gone as much as you do. I will send you a letter about his trinkets. You will destroy them. I do not care what way, I do not care who. And then you are going to find a way to free Harry from that scar without killing him. Now, activate the portkey you have on your person and be gone."

Dumbledore did just that. Ron turned to the Dursleys who were now cowering while facing the gangly man who had soundly thrashed their freak of a protector. "I don't even want to waste words on you. Fuck you to hell." He then simply left.

* * *

Remus was not sure what to say. He had seen Harry more than two and a half years ago. The bubbly baby was now this sickly child. He hated himself for allowing it to happen. He hated Dumbledore for the same reason. He hated Peter and Voldemort the most. But that didn't mean he knew what to say or do. So he just stared at the child walking with Hermione.

"This is Remus Lupin," she introduced. "He was your father's friend. They used to call him Moony."

Harry shyly shook the large hand of the man, somehow simultaneously managing to keep his glasses on his nose. Remus stopped that and instead took Harry into his arms as he had longed to for so long. He didn't miss Hermione's frown. "What?" he mouthed. She just shook her head and mimed stiffening. And Remus realised what it was. Harry was as stiff as a plank of wood. He was once more expecting to be hurt. At four, he was expecting to be hurt. He wanted to ensure that Dumbledore met Moony. Not knowing what to do, he gave Harry a peck on the top of his head and set him down.

Harry stood an arm's length away timidly.

"I am so happy to see you again, Harry," Remus spoke with great emotion as he offered Harry a piece of Honeyduke's finest. "I was searching for you for three years. I am one of your real Uncles, you know. Vernon wasn't. You were supposed to live with us."

It was a lie, but in the spirit of what they were – family – there was no greater truth he could speak.

The hope and more importantly, the joy at the idea that his greatest wish, that somebody would tell him that it was all a lie, and that they were looking for him, was a reward all by itself. Of course, he was a kid, so the chocolate was more than appreciated as well.

Remus couldn't help but grin back.

* * *

The three new parents had decided against apparition and had instead used the Knight Bus to transport Harry (upon whom a sleeping spell was cast) to Remus' home. The precious bundle was lightly placed on the only bed in the house, and Hermione sat on it, with Harry's head in her lap, gently threading her fingers through the unruly hair.

They celebrated Harry's rescue and Sirius' freedom with tea. They were not healed, none of them. But they would. They had each other now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Little Steps**

 **A/N: Thanks to all reviewers, favouriteers and followers. Harry Potter is not mine.**

* * *

Poppy sprang into action as the alarm charm set on the infirmary for incoming Portkeys alerted her. It was still only summer, and so the only people who could have arrived into the infirmary were the teachers, all of whom had been handed the portkeys by the Headmaster. She was very shocked to see the very obvious evidence of battery on the Headmaster.

"Albus!" she cried in shock as she hurried over, simultaneously taking in the severity of the injuries – broken nose, a bruised elbow, several broken fingers, and wand splinters. Someone had taken Albus to the cleaners and it almost seemed as if he had, considering his age, barely escaped with his life, assuming he had left early. She quickly took care of the nose first, healing it with a deft wave of her wand, accompanying the spell, "Episkey!" At the very least, that would leave him as intelligible as it was possible for him to be while she asked him questions.

Dumbledore winced at the lancing pain of the healing spell as his nose painfully reset itself in a trice. Just because it was a healing spell did not mean it didn't hurt.

"Just what were you up to?" Poppy demanded. "What prompted you to get into a physical fight with anyone?"

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment. Then he replied, "Alas! Poppy, it was a particular failure of mine that has come home to roost. It was my mistakes as people see them for which it was seen fit to punish me."

With no other answer forthcoming and with all signs of him re-entering his contemplative mood, Poppy gave it up as a bad job. She healed the injuries, which, now that she had seen them, were fairly superficial, as if they were caused to shame him rather than harm him. She shuddered to think about the sort of person that could shame Albus. Once she was sure of his health and his recovery, she discharged him, leaving the old man to walk the path to his office in silence.

He wasn't sure, truly, about anything now. He had learnt that Remus, whom he had trusted, had ferreted out Harry's location with the help of the two people who had attacked him today. He could no longer truly trust Remus, for Remus' loyalty was first with Harry. It was obvious that Remus already knew about Sirius when he was in that very office the other day. Did he know about the Malfoys too? Perhaps they were a smokescreen to hide their successful tracking of Harry?

Dumbledore refused to believe that. He no longer trusted Remus as much as he did before, but the person who would work around lycanthropy to devote his time to his search for what could surely be called his only living family would never willingly harm a child. Did those two people who were with him do it?

It was likely, but it was only as likely as it was not. They did not use any magic whatsoever, though they surely knew about magic. Their sole intention was, in their eyes, to rescue Harry from his true family. They were probably squibs. So magic was probably beyond their abilities. Moreover, the man wanted him to use politics to decimate the Death Eaters, so he was willing to stay on the straight and narrow.

But they didn't understand! None of them could! As bad as it was, they were still...

And he paused. "As bad as it was," he murmured to himself. So many things came into perspective.

He rewound his thoughts to those about Remus' betrayal. As bitter as he was about it, he tried, truly, for one of those rare times in his life, to think about a matter from a perspective completely opposed to his plans. He did that often. What was rare was that he tried to feel sympathetic towards the opposing position.

If Remus had betrayed him, then he wondered what the man thought of him. It was patently obvious that he knew that Sirius was innocent. It was patently obvious that he knew that Harry was not loved. Dumbledore paused. Harry was – no, lived – in a cupboard under the stairs. It made Dumbledore uncomfortable.

As much as he wanted to be a good person, Dumbledore still had the desire to put his plans first. So he stubbornly almost ignored that.

Thinking back to Remus, he now knew that Dumbledore was complicit in both the cases. How could he not be? Sirius' innocence being proven was the responsibility of every conscientious person involved in the magical judiciary. He was as guilty of perjury, now that he thought of it, as he was of not ensuring that an innocent man did not suffer needlessly.

And as far as Harry and his family, for that was exactly how Dumbledore considered them to be, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, he needed Harry to be there, now more than ever. The squibs and Sirius and Remus were not enough protection, certainly not as much as the blood protections were.

The whole matter, in truth, finally boiled down back to the person with whom it all started that Halloween night. This much he knew that till they could be convinced to send Harry back to his family, they would not hurt him. The woman had gone berserk, as had the man, when it became obvious that he was not being cared for as he should have been.

A warning trill sounded in the air. Dumbledore jerked up to see Fawkes glaring at him in a way that only a bird could. The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He did not want to be swayed from the path they were walking on.

"Fawkes, you have to understand. You do, don't you? Asking around for solutions will alert all the wrong people. If someone moves early and brings Voldemort back while the world hasn't yet recuperated, there will be no way in which he can be defeated now. For the Greater Good, keeping the scar intact..."

Fawkes trilled once more, this time his anger becoming evident.

"Fawkes, you know this is exactly why. I will tell you what I told Minerva that night. I wouldn't heal the scar if I could find the cleansing or the transference rituals." These were the rituals which were banned because of the fact that they were quite similar to the Dementors' Kiss or because of the aspect of Death truly knew them completely.

The next moment, he was clawed in the face by his familiar. This time, Fawkes' screech was scary and terrible and vicious – as much as it was possible for a phoenix to be that way. But for the man it was terrifying.

"You believe I am going dark? After all I have done, after all we have been through together you'd believe that of me?"

Fawkes just screeched again, almost in a challenging tone.

"What?" Dumbledore cried, flabbergasted.

Fawkes gave an affirmative trill. Dumbledore stared at the bird in shock for a few moments.

"But wouldn't it give him a ready source of power?" countered Dumbledore, worried, a little scared, but also slightly intrigued.

Fawkes warbled back in a somewhat condescending manner.

"Yes, leaving it a whole soul to corrupt would be disastrous indeed."

Fawkes sang a smug tone.

Dumbledore looked at the bird and then stood out to watch the stars. They were beautiful. "It is for the Greater Good after all," he proclaimed softly. "I presume you know how to do it?"

Fawkes sang out an affirmation.

Dumbledore was silent for a long while. "You will help me when the time comes?" he asked the bird somewhat timidly.

Fawkes trilled a soothing, calming, assuring trill.

"There is still the matter of protection," he murmured. "Maybe I can ask Sirius to look into it."

Fawkes alighted on Dumbledore's shoulder, singing a deep melody that carried over the grounds. It was the music of regret and of hope, and tinged with sadness and resignation.

* * *

Sirius' release the following morning was declared in a special broadcast on the WWN and in the evening editions of all the papers. It carried the arrested Peter Pettigrew's photograph, along with Mad-Eye who had caught him, and the whole bunch of things he had on his person being destroyed, including Voldemort's Wand. Dumbledore had made sure that his statement, "That is Voldemort's wand and he has had it since he was a student at Hogwarts. I have fought him to a standstill twice, and I would recognise it anywhere. A prime creation with a core of Phoenix feather, but it was used for only the most evil purposes," was published word for word.

In truth, however, the Ministry found it in its interest to hush the matter up as much as it could on the side of Sirius. The treatment of his release and his innocence was, in light of the information about Voldemort's wand and about Peter, rather perfunctory. They had, without him asking for it, compensated him, a bit excessively, and people were being excessively polite and deferential around him. It was so obvious a ploy to buy his silence and co-operation that he almost burst out laughing when Millicent Bagnold personally handed over the signed writ turning over the Malfoy estate to him as the closest living, non-criminal relative.

The truth was that nothing mattered. He was counting each second as he waited to meet someone whose safety, happiness and acceptance of him would wash it all away. He was accosted by a very familiar face.

"Remus," Sirius acknowledged tersely.

"You can call me Moony, or the Man on the Moon, you know, Padfoot," Remus replied mildly.

Padfoot's face brightened. It was Moony who'd found the traitor. "You knew?"

"No. I didn't actually. I will admit that initially I hated you, but a part of me didn't want to even think of you being capable of that. So instead I set about looking for Prongslet. I decided that he was the priority."

"You found him?" He didn't grudge Remus that. He had not trusted the man either, back then. And moreover, he had done just what Sirius would have wanted the man to do.

"A few friends did. I could never have entered where he was. There were Dark Creature Prevention Wards."

Sirius sighed gustily. He had seen the sort. Moony would have been incinerated. They also had to be removed entirely, to key even one person into them. He knew of only one person who would have placed Harry under such wards, and he didn't begrudge Dumbledore that. If Remus could have found Harry, so too could have someone like Greyback.

"Where is he?"

"My house," answered Remus.

"And these friends who found Pettigrew?" asked Sirius.

"It is not a story for this place and time."

Sirius nodded. He wouldn't badger Remus now. He had grown up a bit. It was the biggest misfortune that he had to endure Azkaban for that.

* * *

"I want to scoff at this and treat it with incredulity," Sirius murmured faintly as Ron and Hermione narrated their story. Harry had not woken yet, courtesy a small sleeping potion to help with the effects of a minor healing potion that Hermione had brewed.

"But then I have learnt to accept the improbable and it is all magic, after all...Thank you. Thank you, both of you for all that you have done. In spite of your troubles you didn't abandon Harry. I could have soldiered on, but the idea of the little pup there..." he trailed off as he shuddered. It was difficult for him to become acclimatised to human contact after his illegal incarceration, and he drifted off mid-sentence many times. Still, he held himself and his slightly scrambled mind together, long enough to stay with the discussion. He looked at the two and then at Hermione in particular. "Do you realise, incidentally, that in your perspective this is the second time that you have traversed time to save me?"

Hermione attempted a weak smile, but couldn't really manage it. So she just nodded.

"Once again, thank you. I cannot say that enough for all that you have done. I am tempted to make grandiose statements and fulfil any of your desires, but I'd like to think Azkaban has tempered that a bit."

"Will you let us be around Harry? You know, not cut us out, since you are the legal guardian?"

Sirius stared at Hermione as if she was mad. "Why would I do that?" he asked incredulously. "Apart from him recognising your younger selves when they and he meet at Hogwarts – and Ron, I am sorry, but as children are much more sensitive, I don't think it would be wise to have either of your younger selves meet Harry – I cannot see any reason why I should keep you away from him." It was the longest cohesive argument Sirius had made.

The two time-travellers nodded.

"At the same time, I want you to get help – the sort of help that I cannot give you. You told me that Harry leapt at the chance to see you both as surrogate parents. But it's been less than a week since..." he shied away from saying what he wanted to.

There was no polite or gentle way to say it. Ron and Hermione had been a whirlwind of action since being thrust into a past where they had no place as they were. It had been an easy way to reap angry vengeance to do something as they itched to do while not confronting the entire scope of their loss. It had not been just their children. Molly, Ron's mother had been murdered. Harry, the person closest to both had been murdered, though having his little self around had offset that. Everyone grieved in their own way, but the couple had not really faced facts as they stood.

Their family as they knew it was dead. And what were the chances of a similar future if they even wanted it?

"For what it is worth, I think Padfoot is right," Remus agreed. "You have done a lot. You have taken care of things. Let us now take care of you."

Through her rapidly building tears at the reminder, Hermione blinked in confusion before turning to see a similar expression on her husband's face. Then they realised. Remus and Sirius were treating them as the adults they saw them to be, while trying to keep in mind who they really were. That had to be confusing for the two young men.

* * *

Harry stared timidly at the man who was looking at him as if he were a cool glass of water on a hot summer's day, not that Harry thought that way. All the same, Harry thought he should know this man.

"Hello Harry," Sirius said at last.

"Hello," replied Harry.

"I am Sirius Black, Harry. I was, with Remus here, your father's best friend. We are both your real uncles."

"Are you the other friend...um...she told me about?" The awkward question was asked to Sirius, but was actually directed to Hermione. They hadn't yet worked out what he was to call them all.

"Yes I am."

"Did you also look me?" asked the boy with sad eyes.

Sirius crumpled upon himself. He reached out and grasped the tips of Harry's fingers. It was about as much human contact as he was yet comfortable with, and he could still grab Harry in a hug because it was Harry. Coincidentally, it was also all that Harry was comfortable with.

"No puppy," Sirius replied sadly. "Did they tell you that a very bad man killed your mummy and daddy?"

Harry shook his head. "I was sleeping," he answered lowly. It was his mistake.

"That is okay," Sirius answered reassuringly. "I was supposed to care for you if that happened. I am your godfather. But that night, I was very angry. We had one more friend, and he told the very bad man how to find your parents. This friend would have hurt you too, so first I wanted to catch him. But he told everyone that I told the bad man how to find your parents. So they put me in jail. It was very bad."

Harry looked at Sirius with something that Sirius decided was understanding. "When Dudley pushed Maggie Boswell from the stairs, he told everyone that I had pushed her. They put me in my room for two weeks."

Having heard what the room was, exactly, Sirius worried that he was going to explode with anger. He was such a small child, was his little godson. Why did he even have an analogy for the experience? So he reached out and tentatively drew Harry into a light hug. Harry wriggled a bit as he tried to get away, and Sirius released him without saying anything about it.

"It's alright pup. Now we are all here. We won't let anyone punish you."

Harry nodded. Then he asked **_the_** question, as far as Sirius was concerned. "Why do you call me puppy?"

Sirius smiled broadly. He didn't consider the fact that Harry had not been actually introduced to magic. "It's a magic thing you know. I always thought of you like my own kid, and there is a very special thing I can do. Do you want to see?"

Astounded at being asked for his choice, Harry dumbly nodded. Sirius stood and transformed into Padfoot. Harry stared at the dog. The dog stared back, its tongue hanging out. Then the little boy said a word that became a new Patronus memory for Sirius.

"Pafoo..."


	8. Chapter 8

**Healing**

A/N: Thanks to all those who have read, favourited and followed, and the reviewers, Arnie100, WizardingWhovian and Gemcatcher (who have reviewed all the chapters till now) and ragweas. Sorry for the delay.

* * *

Remus' little cottage (the recipient of prodigiously cast space expansion charms) had never really seen happiness among its inhabitants ever since he had received the bite at the age of four. Sure, there were sparks of joy scattered over the two decades since the day, but the mood in the house had always been melancholy.

It was funny how the presence of the four others added to the melancholy and yet seemed to drive it away, simply because between the four adults, they had a wide-eyed innocent kid to love. It was not a perfect situation by any means, but it was what they had, and it was far, far better than nothing at all.

The first week was odd really, because Remus' little cottage was simply unsuitable for company, let alone for bringing up a child. Added to that was the fact that Sirius still was melancholy and Ron and Hermione were obviously not at all alright. In fact, it astounded Remus, that he was the least affected person in the place.

Then along came Harry into their midst, and then he seemed to have that sense of people not being happy. It was so much like Lily that it was painful for the two Marauders.

While initially very wary of any actual contact with anyone else, he seemed to take to Padfoot immediately. The dog form itself was one that Sirius was more comfortable with than humanity immediately after his release, since he had been in that form for half the time during his incarceration, and for practically the entire time in the latter half. So Harry would cuddle up with the dog, scratch his belly when Sirius would present it, take him for 'walks' (which meant Sirius felt comfortable enough to go out and around his godson), play fetch, and curl up beside him when he felt sleepy. On the fourth day, Sirius transformed back to himself off his own accord and held Harry with a look of contentment. These periods started to last longer, and two more weeks later, he was actually talking to everyone else.

Remus too found himself falling into a pattern with the Prongslet as he fell back to calling Harry. All he had to do was sit patiently after he brought water for his Uncle Moony, who was recovering from the full moon night, though in much better shape since the wolf felt better for having Padfoot and the Cub back.

 _"_ _Are you alright Uncle Moony?" Harry asked again, for possibly the twentieth time since morning._

 _As irate as it made Remus (because it took him quite some time to control himself at all after a full moon), he still smiled through a grimace and shook his head._

 _"_ _Do you want chocolate?" While Harry was still shy with them all, he knew that if he tried enough with these new people, they would probably like him better than the Dursleys ever did._

 _"_ _It's okay Harry," Remus tiredly replied._

 _"_ _I just wanted to help," the small boy replied in a small voice, blinking at Remus from behind the large glasses._

 _Remus took the chance. "Hmm...Then will you help me? Don't let anyone wake me up till dinner time."_

 _Harry dutifully guarded Remus as he slept, keeping a watchful eye and shushing everyone when they spoke too loudly. It reminded Hermione of Crookshanks when he used to keep watch over her children, or Hedwig perching on the bed in the Hospital Wing._

Remus still feared Harry's reaction to when he would be told about his affliction. Knowing what the future Harry thought of him, and the idea that he had named Harry his son's ( ** _he_** , Remus Lupin, had a family, a son?!) godfather helped ease that a bit, but Remus was a pessimist when it came to himself. He had acquired the habit of expecting the next hit to come. He had been, after all, since the age of four, the poster child for Murphy's Law on steroids: Whatever bad can happen **_must_** happen to him. But till the time it happened and the other shoe dropped, he was not going to mourn for it. So long as he had it, he was going to savour having the acceptance and love of people around him.

But if Harry was close to the two men, it was nothing compared to the two who knew him, or at least a version of him the longest. At four, he had not yet learnt to be cynically mistrustful of adults – not completely anyway. And Hermione and Ron did say that they wanted to be his new mummy and daddy.

So he soon started to copy what the two did.

Ron, the Auror, had learnt to eat with an eye on the paper that Hermione read at the table. The incessant staring at Hermione as she read and ate unnerved her, but less than his apparent aversion to food. It was only after trying to find out why he wasn't eating his breakfast at all did they realised that Harry's staring was at the paper. He neither knew his letters, nor could he see too well. This meant Hermione got something to do as she held his hand and taught him to read and write. And since she read, he did too.

It was through these little things that the four adults realised just how integral a part of their lives the little boy had become, simply by dint of being himself.

* * *

"It's so..."

"So what?" Hermione asked, as she sat on Harry's bed, having just read him a story. Typically, as most children would do, he was fighting sleep. So his head was in her lap, and she was threading her fingers through the messy hair, an action that seemed as natural as breathing.

Ron just placed a small charm that would prevent Harry from hearing what they said, while still allowing them to hear if he said anything and allowing him to hear if they spoke to him directly. "I used to be jealous of the closeness you two shared," he admitted after a little while. "My worst fears about you two always seemed to have you in such a situation."

Hermione gave him a look of fury and surprise. "I never knew you were so suspicious of us. If it is any solace to you, let me assure you that I have been a perfectly faithful girlfriend and wife," she bitterly snapped.

Ron sighed. He should have known she would take offence. "I am talking of the time before...before we were together. You know back during our sixth year and while out searching for those...things."

"Oh." Hermione wasn't very mollified, but she didn't lose her temper further. "Then this must be the stuff of nightmares for you."

"It is a nightmare. The reality is worse than any that I could have imagined. My worst imagination only had you in love with the older Harry instead of me."

His sombre words reminded her of everything all over again, and it took supreme effort

"Honestly, it could have gone that way," she said after some time. "You two were the two boys in my life, and I had been attracted to both of you at different points of time. That shouldn't be very surprising. But then, I learnt that Harry was becoming too passive."

"That's not a denial."

"It wasn't meant to be one. I am just telling you why we never went down that road, since you started."

Ron knew to quit, and so turned the topic a bit. "Did you ever regret it? You know, marrying me?"

He had expected another similar answer. Instead, Hermione's face melted into one he had known a lot, but never aimed at him. It was etched with pity. He hated it.

"Ron, you frustrated me a lot, but never, ever have I regretted our marriage. It was a choice I made in full possession of my senses. I accept that throughout our time together, I might have made mistakes, fewer from my point of view than you did, but still."

That was a big admission. In his younger years, Ron would have lorded that over her, but now, he accepted it as the biggest concession she would make.

"But still, did the thought that you might have been with Harry instead of me never cross your mind?"

"Of course it did, just as the thought that you'd have been better off with someone else must have crossed your mind after our many fights. But there was more to being married than just us individually, wasn't it? We had...we had a...a wonderful family. It was joyful; at least that part was, and remained so in the recent years."She looked down towards the boy and placed a small kiss on his brow. "Sometimes...sometimes I think we are betraying Hugo and Rose by being here for him," she admitted in a very small voice.

"That thought crosses my mind far too many times for my comfort," Ron admitted. "And then I look at this little one and feel bad of having thought of never being here, though the thought doesn't go away truly, knowing that he was there with them when we couldn't be, doing what we would have expected him to do." He looked at the boy who was looking at them and rubbing his eyes as he tried to understand why he could see them talking but not hear a word. "I hate that this has happened, but..." he trailed off.

"He looks up to you and me, you know?"

"That's normal, I should think," snorted Ron. "I grow up in his shadow, or at least thinking I am, and then I am turned into a parental figure for him, and I can't even be angry, because he never asked for any of it, as he never did before. It makes it rather difficult to conjure self-pity, if you ask me."

It elicited a rare giggle from his wife. Harry saw that and laughed as well.

"And what are you laughing about, eh?" he asked the child, tickling him a little and making him squirm and laugh harder.

"Nothing!" squealed Harry, before Hermione glared at them both, stopped Ron's vociferous attacks, and petted Harry back to sleepiness. "I have just started getting him to sleep," she admonished.

They spent some time in amicable silence, looking like the simple everyday family.

"It scares me you know, all this," Hermione said with an expansive wave to include everything. "Do you think we will do right by him?"

Ron took his time to answer. "We will. He will not be, as you said, 'passive'. That was because of those beasts. He will not be someone who takes things lying down, even from friends."

Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow. Ron in turn, told her what Seamus had told him. It alarmed her.

"Were we so bad?"

"Clearly, we were. It made me question myself. Remember how Hugo and Rose were always happier to be over at Ginny's or Mum's?"

"But we were friends, not like..."

"But we were also young. And we were forced to be responsible, all of us, when we should have had a chance to learn how the world really worked through our mistakes. Instead, for us, mistakes meant lives being lost. Face it, Hermione; our lives never really were our own."

"You seem strangely sure about this."

"It was something that came up once when Neville, Harry and I were winding down a bit. It made me resent most people above me in the pecking order. We always were expendable."

She said nothing, instead opting to stare at the ceiling and rest her head on the wall behind her. "Why did all this ever happen, Ron?"

"It happened because those in power were corrupt; and those who weren't corrupt were either not in power, or they were unwilling to do the right thing. Dad revelled in being the muggle-loving tinkerer. It was not wrong, but he was not very proficient at it either, and he achieved nothing doing what he loved. Dumbledore I don't need to talk about. Amelia Bones was the worst; she had the power, and she did nothing. Do you know that she could have staged Harry's arrest or taken him into protective custody when Voldemort returned and disrupted the events that occurred? She could have used her executive powers she was invested with for precisely those situations. She didn't need to hear the allegations directly; that they were there meant that she was obligated to do something. Hell, an unaccounted for escaped prisoner should have rung the alarm bells. The Order had people in place to prevent Malfoy going free, and yet he did.

"We found a lot that could have been done, and wasn't. It was all shambles. They failed us at every turn, Hermione, and even now they still are."

"But then what did fighting and winning achieve?" she asked with indignant harshness. She looked at his wry face and realised. "We never won, did we? Voldemort was killed. He wasn't defeated."

"He wasn't," Ron concurred. "We did the job for the older generations which retained the power over the magical world, we bled, we worked to rebuild what they would rule, and we still drew the short straw. We killed Voldemort, and yet **_we_** lost."

Hermione couldn't help but empathise with Ron's bitterness. They were the ones from whom everything was taken, after all.

"Why did we ever bother?"

"Because we needed to survive," Ron answered the rhetorical question. "And that is what I realised these past few weeks. Wondering why we are here or getting angry, nothing's going to help. **_We_** are the older generation."

"Yes, I quite realised that when I learnt to stop asking Remus about things. And I get what you are pointing at. We are here not just for him. We are here to ensure that our younger selves get to be children, and not pawns."

"Yes."

A look of camaraderie, more suited to their teenage when they were fighting Voldemort, was shared. It eased them more than anything else. Then, Hermione, as ever the surprisingly impulsive one, drew Ron into a hug.

"You know that I still do love you, don't you?"

"As I do you," he replied firmly, even though he was surprised by that admission. He had learnt that.

"Good."

They felt better, and closer than they had done in a long time.

Then two spindly arms went around them as Harry yawned and sleepily said, "Goodnight mummy. Goodnight Daddy."

Neither could resist the touch of wetness in their eyes as they replied, "Goodnight, son."


	9. Chapter 9

**Grief and Closure**

Thanks to all readers, favouriteers, followers and reviewers: ObsessedWithHPFanFic, Harriverse, Gemcatcher, ragsweas, and gr8rockstarrox. This chapter took time. It is twice as long as my usual post.

* * *

The adults had started building lives of their own, as they tried to live. Remus and Ron had both found jobs as primary school teacher and a shop accountant respectively, which they had started as October rolled in. Unethical, forged documents were the order of the day, and neither had particularly cared.

It had, to the sheer relief of all four of them, evoked a tantrum from Harry who simply didn't want them to leave. It took a bit of time to cajole him; but that he was open enough with them to throw one meant that the Dursleys hadn't been able to damage Harry all that much. It had also earned Harry a scolding, his first from Hermione. He had sulked for a bit after that. Then Remus had taken him aside and had explained why they needed to work.

An hour after that, a fretting Hermione faced with a timid Harry who gave her his best beseeching, innocent look and an apology. She had just drawn him into a tight hug. It was certain to be a novel experience for him, she realised. That (a) he could throw a tantrum, (b) he could be disciplined for an irrational one and expect to know what the boundaries were, and (c) learn that if he accepted when he was wrong and apologised for it, then he could be forgiven, were things he must have never known.

Of course, thinking before acting, and standing his ground when he believed truly that he was right; those were important things to teach too. But they would have to wait. Harry would push their limits, toe the line and sometimes be a brat. That implied a level of trust between the child and the parents. That they had already reached that stage warmed her heart like nothing else. It meant that they now _were_ his parents.

And yes, Hermione was given to thinking about motherhood _that_ clinically. She had always feared being wrong, and motherhood, even to someone who was as driven and therefore automatically assumed to be lacking in passion enough for that by those who constructed glass ceilings (not her husband or her best friend), was too important to mess up. So she had turned to her tried and tested ways. They seemed to work well enough.

Sirius too had taken up his duties as the Head of House Black – to an extent. He had yet to go and confront his mother. But otherwise, as the sole living male Black, even the antagonistic, arrogantly proud, hateful woman couldn't object to the work he was doing. They had faded into ignominy, then their reputation had been restored through Sirius' exoneration and now they enjoyed the curiosity that the name evoked among people who liked to be prurient and pry into matters – only it wasn't to her liking, because it meant that Sirius had indeed opposed the Dark Lord. She hated that shame of her flesh.

Ron and Hermione – especially Ron – though were determined to ensure that Sirius learnt that he had _three_ brothers, after all. The House of Black had not forsaken him as much as he believed.

That posed a small problem. Any time they tried to talk to him about Grimmauld Place even obliquely, he always changed the topic with excessive exuberance. They already knew that the man was going to be horribly affected as October died, and he needed the closure that would come with knowing who Regulus truly was.

They didn't dare hope for any reconciliation between mother and son though, and that was probably for the best.

* * *

"Sirius," Ron ominously started after cornering the man. "We need to talk."

Sirius looked up from the paperwork accumulated over three years that he had to deal with, with a frown.

"Yes?"

"About Grimmauld Place..."

"Will you look at this?! What was mother...?"

"Do not change the subject, Sirius," Ron harshly interrupted. "You will not deflect me."

"Perhaps you should know how much I hated and hate that place." He turned a grim resigned face to Ron. "Do you want me to keep distance from Harry?"

"I will not even answer that," Ron growled with a glower. "You are the Head of the family that lived there – your family!"

"The Marauders, Lily and now you are my family," Sirius fiercely declared. "It was never them. I stopped caring for them ages ago!"

"But you still loved Regulus."

Sirius gave a pained grimace and turned his face away, silent. Then he bitterly retorted, "A fat lot of good it did me. I tried to help him, Ron!" He panted like an angry bull-elephant as he stood, his fists threatening to pierce through the lone table in the room that doubled up as the dining table, study and work tables and anything else that it was required to be along those lines. Not even the memory of what Peter evoked that much vitriol as Regulus did. "I tried to keep him safe from mother, from everyone, and how was I repaid?" he angrily demanded.

"By him betraying Voldemort and finding the secret to his immortality, and realising that in the end you were right, as he died hoping for forgiveness from you, more than anyone else."

For a moment, Sirius' face went slack so fast that Ron got up out sheer reflex that being a trained Auror told him when a person was going into shock. He had gripped Sirius under his armpits before he even started to collapse into his chair.

It was only after a newly acquired bottle of firewhiskey, which was a carefully controlled substance, was two fingers empty that Sirius could collect himself enough to talk. "Regulus betrayed...?"

"...Voldemort," completed Ron. "Yes. He did become a Death Eater. He did take great pride in it, initially. And then something happened that made him wonder. We don't know what. It all came to a head when Voldemort hid that thing and I believe that he saw an assault on Kreacher as an assault on the House of Black, for the Death Eaters are all his servants, and he would treat them all as he treated Kreacher."

"But...?" asked Sirius, unable to yet muster full sentences.

"But, unlike any other Death Eater, Regulus' curiosity coupled with his disillusionment meant that his loyalties shifted. And he nursed Kreacher back to health, learnt what had truly happened, what Riddle had done. He decided he'd had enough, and he chose to do what was right. We never did ask Kreacher the extent of his change of heart, but however much it was, it was very welcome."

Sirius remained studiously silent for a while, though his clenched jaw, and the two more fingers of the fiery liquid that he downed to ease his clenched throat.

"What do I need to do?"

"You know what you need to do. Go to Grimmauld Place. Talk to Kreacher. I suppose the magic words will be "I want to help you complete Regulus' last orders." I know this is insensitive, but he tells the story better."

His role as the older person done, Ron left Sirius to his thoughts, feeling fairly disoriented himself.

* * *

Sirius didn't need to be let into Grimmauld Place. Then again, it was not a place where he would have willingly gone. But for Regulus, he would, just as he had taken Regulus' punishments for him as well.

He still wasn't prepared to face the sozzled harridan who screeched at him from the unkempt mess the room was, into which she had managed to integrate herself like another dilapidated, wood-rotting bookstand.

"YOU! HOW DARE YOU DEFILE THIS HOUSE OF BLACK? YOU SHAME ME BY LIVING! HOW DARE...?"

"Silence," Sirius coldly commanded. "You shall be silent and you shall remain silent, Walburga Black. I see you have spread your rot through this house. A rot of the mind and of spirit, of your morals and your beliefs; a rot that killed my brother." He was squatting on one knee to look the woman who didn't have strength to stand in the eye.

"Regulus died a glorious..." she started to furiously snarl, only for Sirius to cast a silencing charm on her.

He was torn. He hated this woman, as much as anyone he had ever hated. But then she was his _mother_ , _his_ mother. Irrespective of what she was and what he was now, and what they were eight years ago, he wouldn't leave her in squalor that she draped around herself like a fine cloak. Ron and Hermione had, on further questioning, told him that they vaguely remembered the tapestry recording her death as 1987 or 1989, that last digit being blurred beyond more than vague recognition. And he couldn't just leave her be. She was a danger to herself and anyone else who'd come across her path. She couldn't order Kreacher to hurt him, the Head of House, but anyone else was fair game.

"KREACHER!" he bellowed, his voice echoing haphazardly off some empty walls.

After a whole minute, the insane old elf _walked_ into the room, having tried for as much time as he could to resist that call, displaying as much insolence as it could garner. How he had tried! But he couldn't! Mistress Walburga was glaring at him. He had failed. He had responded to the blood traitor's call. "Master," the elf acknowledged in an oily voice, tingeing the word with all the sarcastic inflections available at his disposal.

Sirius stared at both with utmost loathing. They were the banes of his childhood, one torturing him in inventive ways, the other sneaking around and telling on him every time he toed the insane, senseless lines the former drew. _You could just hex them and be done_ , a traitorous part of his mind suggested. But another, one that had always sounded like Lily, James, Remus and Aunt Dorea and Uncle Charles by turns, reminded him why he was here.

It was just one word.

 _Regulus._

Sirius breathed away his anger and loathing and fury and everything else as he focussed on the bowing elf. "Kreacher, stand up. You are an honoured member of our House, and we bow to none. We protect those entrusted in our care, though our ideals have sometimes gone awry. And we avenge our own when they are wronged."

Kreacher the elf stilled. He was seeing a different face and hearing a different voice. He had adored it since it was that of a baby, then a boy and then a man.

"Regulus was my brother, Kreacher. He was murdered through something that Voldemort did. I do not know how. I want to. He is not at rest. He is worried; enough to visit _me_ in my dreams," he added a white lie on sudden inspiration. "He worries for you; that you punish yourself unjustly for an order that you could not carry out. He bids me to help you. And I shall. My brother was murdered, and I shall avenge him, if you help me."

Kreacher could scarcely believe his ears. "Master shall avenge..."

"I shall avenge Regulus, yes. It was why I begged him to never join Voldemort. I do not believe in blood purity. I do not care whether Regulus did. Many people do, without becoming murderers and slaves to a demented half-blood's whims and fancies, pledging their lives to him." Sirius grimaced as he spoke in a language that the elf, and even his mother, who was, for once, _listening_ to him, could understand. He agreed with Dumbledore about why he had never told anyone about Voldemort's ancestry – it didn't matter. As with the victims, the perpetrators' blood didn't matter. Evil is evil in whatever form it takes. "I have always worried for him, Kreacher. And I couldn't do anything about it till now. But now I can," and here his voice turned to a low determined snarl, "and I shall."

Kreacher nodded fervently. This was not the brat – not anymore. This was Master. This was the Head of the House of Black, the House he was proudly bound to proudly serve.

"But first," Sirius continued kindly and patiently, "I must know what he means. I must know what he did. I must know his last order." He glanced briefly at his shocked mother, and subtly cancelled the silencing charm.

He didn't need the charm. Walburga was struck dumb by the terrible ordeal Kreacher, broken and sobbing, recounted. Not a word escaped her lips when Kreacher stood up and shrieked, "HE KILLED HIM! THE DARK LORD KILLED MASTER REGULUS! KREACHER COULDN'T HELP!" Suddenly, he bashed his head on the wall as he mourned his own failings, "BAD KREACHER! BAD KREACHER!"

An utterly stifling silence seemed to weigh the whole place down as the two humans who had cared about Regulus Black in their own way digested the tale.

Stupid Regulus. Stupid, young, idiotic Regulus. Why? Why had he not trusted Sirius? He had promised to be there for him when he came to his senses!

But then again, Regulus would have taken that with all the paranoia that was supposed to be the hallmark of one Alastor Moody. And he was sure he would've had a hard time trusting Regulus quickly enough to help.

But he _was_ his brother; his, _Sirius'_ brother. He had chosen well, in the end, rightly, the noble path.

"The Dark Lord killed my son." Walburga's dry, flat emotionless statement startled Sirius and Kreacher both, as she verbalised the one fact that she had latched on to. "We served him, and he killed my son."

Her shock gave way to a slow rictus of rage, the sort that Sirius remembered from his worst punishments. Then he also felt slight resentment about the fact that she would have rejoiced had he died. But that was a very miniscule thought; borne of the fact that she was still his mother, even if she was his greatest tormentor, worse than the Dementors of Azkaban.

She turned to Sirius. "You told him not to become a Death Eater."

"Yes," replied Sirius.

"IT's YOUR FAULT! YOU PLAYED WITH REGULUS' MIND! IF REGULUS HAD NOT BETRAYED THE DARK LORD, HE WOULD HAVE LIVED! HE WOULDN'T HAVE CARED FOR THE MISERABLE ELF! YOU KILLED HIM! IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

And for a moment, Sirius had foolishly hoped she would see the light. And of course she blamed him. It hurt like barbed icy cold curses against bruises, and thanks to this woman, he knew what that felt like. But he at least wasn't shocked by that. He also saw how Kreacher was wilting as the words "he wouldn't have cared for the miserable elf" piled further grief upon the poor creature that was fanatically loyal to Regulus. Was it only Sirius who was abused? _No_ , Sirius realised. _Walburga_ (not mother; Walburga) _had abused_ _everyone around her_.

Even before Kreacher's head had completed half the swing to bash it against a wall again, Sirius' terse order of, "Do not hurt yourself, Kreacher!" rang out loud and clear. "Regulus cared for you and trusted you, and I am going to do the same. You are not to, ever, harm yourself in any manner. I trust you to hold my beliefs and my honour as that of the House of Black, and as your own. Together, we are going to complete Regulus' work! We are going to study the locket, study what you tried to destroy it, and find a way."

Kreacher shook hard. For all of Sirius' life, Kreacher had waged a war against the man in the only way the elf could. It had no rhyme or reason beyond the fact that Sirius stood directly opposed to the House he was part of; because Sirius stood as a traitor. Obeying Walburga came easy, then. And Master Regulus was a perfect son – till those last actions of his. But Kreacher had obeyed him. And there he had become bound closer to Regulus than he was to the House of Black – for he had chosen Regulus' treachery to the Dark Lord whom the House followed over the House's edict. For the nearly five years since Regulus' death, Kreacher was torn between his loyalties – between brave, kind Master Regulus' last order and Mistress Walburga, who was what remained of House Black as he remembered it.

But now...

But now, with Master Sirius, he didn't have to fight anymore. Master Sirius was _the_ House of Black. And Master Sirius would help him with Master Regulus' orders.

Kreacher collapsed.

Walburga started to cackle, driven completely insane, more than she was believed to be.

Sirius had had enough. He stunned Walburga, and crouched by Kreacher, hoping that the normal things that one would do for unconscious humans would work for elves as well. It did, thankfully.

Once Sirius had forced a little salt-sugar-and-water down the elf's throat to make him feel a bit less woozy, Kreacher looked at him with a look of resolute adoration that completely unnerved Sirius. He still seemed weak, but his voice was stronger than ever, as he looked Sirius in the eye and proudly declared, "Yes Master Sirius!" in agreement.

That evening after Harry was sent to sleep, Ron, Remus and Hermione found themselves sharing libations with Sirius, who had returned from his childhood house –not home, that was with the Potters – having ordered Kreacher to get a younger elf to help around the House while Kreacher helped him study the locket. Given that Ron and Hermione knew what it was, and how to destroy it and where to find its companions and destroy them too, it wasn't going to be as onerous a task as he had envisioned it.

The day's drama was concocted just to make him face that past, too accept Regulus' actions, an apology that would speak louder than any word ever, and to give him closure. And did he have it, ever!

Walburga couldn't exactly be placed in a care home. She needed a healer, and the only one he knew was one who wouldn't stand in that House again. Andy hated her aunt just as much. He couldn't stand Walburga and she was his mother. So he had confiscated her wand, and ordered Kreacher to never return it to her and to simply care for her enough to keep her in good health, and to remedy the slovenly state of the house and otherwise ignore her. He would have to get a healer for her.

That was a matter for later.

What mattered was that his brother had chosen to do the right thing. He had sacrificed himself for a greater purpose, and though Sirius begrudged him the sacrifice, he would never begrudge him the intent. The last heirs of the House of Black stood firmly rooted in the light. And for that alone, he would be remembered, honoured and celebrated.

* * *

With practised strides, Hermione pushed open the gate to the little cemetery in Godric's Hollow.

 _Every year since that first visit on Christmas Eve 1997, Hermione and Harry had shared that one moment that was theirs and theirs alone. For Harry, who'd never known family otherwise, having someone who he could honestly call his own, someone whom he considered a sister in all ways that mattered, when he went to visit his parents' graves, was succour like no other. Everyone knew it. And nobody had ever spoken a word about it._

 _It was only after Ginny's death that Ron joined them for what turned out to be the first and last time, even though he kept a respectful distance till Harry and Hermione were done speaking to James and Lily. He never chose to intrude for the half hour the two were with James and Lily. Ron's bouts of self-doubt and a tremendous inferiority complex had, over the years, metamorphosed into a monster called self-loathing. It ate away at him at most inopportune times, and the end result was him always resorting to drink._

 _It had struck home when he had seen Harry shaking with sobs as he related his latest misery to his parents. His best mate had never even seen his parents' graves – the ones right next to his sister's – till that Christmas Eve during the Hunt. And Ron had abandoned him with one of the worst things he said being about Harry's lack of a proper family. Seamus had put him up in one of the rooms at the tavern to let him sleep the alcohol away. While there was unlikely to be much of a festive spirit in the Potter-Weasley household, they certainly could do without dealing with Ron while he was deep in his cups, babbling about how "_ Hermione never felt like abandoning anyone" _and lamenting his own inadequacy._

On this particular Halloween afternoon, however, Ron did join them. Dressed in black overcoats, all of them, with Harry bundled up heavily despite his protests, they had apparated to Godric's Hollow, to the exact spot they always had apparated to in the future that would never be.

They had ended up telling Harry about magic after all. While for a kid younger than five, someone turning into a dog mightn't have been something extraordinary, Harry ended up freezing Padfoot, the slobbery-licking-happy dog, in more water than a hippogriff drank each day. Ron had cackled himself to tears. As his Auror partner, Harry had told him that freezing those they intended to arrest was an easy way. It slowed down the body like nothing else. He never said anything about safe. Some things never changed. They had to tell him before he inadvertently did damage.

Sirius never attempted to chase Harry as Padfoot again. He basked in being buried under a mountain of blankets though.

Sirius and Remus, both similarly dressed, were each holding one of Harry's hands. On his part, Sirius really didn't know what to think. Should he apologise? Should he rage at Prongs and Lily for leaving them? Should he swear vengeance? His bleak face didn't betray his turmoil though. He looked at the little boy whose hand he held. Harry looked timid, glum, and mostly tired. He was after all to see the graves of parents who hadn't been there, never mind the fact that they had died to protect him. He was too young to understand the sacrifice, and while he never said it, he couldn't really miss two people whom he had never really known.

Of them all, it was only Remus who seemed at peace. He had come to terms with that Halloween, and wasn't caught in its snare. And he knew that they had a lot to look forward to. Oh, he missed them, yes. But they didn't haunt his presence. It was not often that he was the best off in any group of people. It was peculiar how life worked, sometimes.

* * *

They approached the graves first, Sirius, Remus and Harry. For a whole minute, neither knew what to say. Remus was sure he was going to be alright. He'd had nearly three years alone to cope with it. And he had his Sirius and Harry back now, as well as new friends. But now, that he stood before the two graves, one with a light coating of earth and dust on it, where it made small windswept dunes, and the other clean, with a small bouquet of the flowers with which she shared her name, Remus was struck dumb with a constricted throat.

"Prongs..." started a raspy-voiced Sirius, tears trickling from his eyes. It was real now. It had been real, but till the moment he stood before the graves, Sirius had hoped that this was nothing more than a nightmare. But it was real now. "Lily...Prongsie..." Words failed Sirius. He gripped Harry's hand a bit tighter, as he took several deep breaths. It was a really bittersweet week for him. He had regained his brother in the latter's death, only to have to grieve his death. And now he was grieving for James and Lily. "I am...I am sorry!"

There; he had said it. Somehow, that broke the dam for the rest of the words.

"It was m...my mistake. I...I should have...should have been your secret-keeper...I should have taken Harry and run..."

His words, stumbling as they were, were swept away by the wind like the dust on James' grave, as a faint scent of Lilies, far more than the mild ones that adorned Lily's grave pervaded the air, even as Remus slung an arm around his best friend's shoulders, and Harry, who never liked it when people around him were sad, gripped him around the waist.

Then Remus spoke in a low voice, a hard voice. "We found him Lily. We found Harry. He was with Petunia, you know?" He imagined her rage as she would surely have displayed it and waited for an appropriate time for his imagination of his lost friends' words fill the silence. "Yeah; it was bad. But you know what? Things are looking up now. He has got us. And he has got two people who I think care for, and have cared for him as much as you do." Another imaginary reply filled another silence. "Yes. Curious as it may be, it is true. You want to meet them?"

Hermione and Ron waited aside. It was a moment for three people who had, one way or the other, had contact with the people who were James and Lily. Harry mightn't have truly known them, but he was of their blood, and it was for him that they had sacrificed themselves.

They watched as Remus ushered their little boy ahead after casting a permanent cleaning charm on their graves and another to keep the elements from affecting them, even as Sirius beckoned them closer. He held a similar bouquet of lilies and a pack of chocolate frogs.

Harry carefully deposited his packages – the lilies on James' grave and the chocolate frogs on Lily's. James loved the flowers because of her, and Lily had been caught in James' card collecting obsession.

"Hi mummy, daddy," he greeted. They probably didn't know him anymore, so, "I am Harry." He looked back towards the adults. They nodded to him in silent encouragement. "Um...I..." he faltered. He was timid as he was with strangers. What could he say to them? He frowned and then squatted near the graves and patted them. But Padfoot had said he should talk to them even if he couldn't see them. "Padfoot told me you had to go to live on Avalon...and that you can still hear me." Much of the childish lisping and diction had been corrected by Hermione. "I don't remember you, but everyone says you loved me very much. I love you too!" he fervently added. Then on a sudden burst of inspiration he asked. "Are you alright there? What is Avalon like? Can you come tell us sometimes? I really want to meet you one day." _Hermione_ was raising the boy; of course he was going to ask questions.

He giggled slightly as the wind ruffled his hair. Behind him, Sirius made a funny choking noise.

Bolstered, he described in as much detail as he could about what he did every day, about Uncle Moony, and Padfoot. And then he told them about Ron and Hermione, who had by then come closer. He worriedly asked, "You won't be angry if they become my new mummy and daddy, will you? You will always be my mum and dad, but they want to be too!"

The stones said nothing.

Ron did though, as he slung an arm, enveloping the child. "We have got him now, James, Lily. We have got him, now, and he is our little boy, now. And we aren't letting him go of him; we aren't leaving him." It was real now. And that promise was as much to Ron himself, as it was to two people long dead, and two more who might never exist.

"We promise you, we will love Harry as much as you did, and more, as you did not have the chance to do. Between Sirius, Remus and us, we will raise a Harry to be proud of, a Harry as you'd have wanted him to be," Hermione seamlessly took over. "In us, we carry the love for him that you had, that we had for Rose and Hugo, and we will never let him down. We promise," she solemnly declared, as she hugged and kissed her boy.

And Samhain of the old ones, and Halloween of the new, is the day when the separation between the two worlds is at its lowest.

As Hermione declared their intentions, two lilies from the bouquet that Harry had laid on the graves, enclosed by other larger ones, turned into beautiful rosebuds.

Hermione choked a startled sob, while Ron's grip on Harry tightened. They didn't need their ears to hear the reply.

 _As do we._


	10. Chapter 10

**Christmas**

Thanks, as usual, to all readers, favouriteers, followers and reviewers: ragsweas, Arnie1701, Sakura Lisel, geekymom, Gemcatcher, avid reader, AzureAlquimista, and kittenclaws. I apologise for the long delay.

Interestingly, nobody caught the very, very fleeting reference to Snape in the previous chapter.

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks was, by all definitions that one would care to consider, a very precocious young girl. As the only daughter of a couple who had defied social norms thoroughly, and one born with one of the rarest magical gifts which she had come into very early, at that, she was spoilt rotten, a little bit. For the first few years of her life, however, while she had always known about magic, she had never really known about her mother's side of the family. They had also shifted around frequently during those years, till late in 1981, when she was seven, and they had to hide from reporters.

It was then that her mum told her about the Black family, about her aunts who had helped some very bad people, about her Uncle Sirius, whom her mother had loved like a little brother but somehow it seemed had gone wrong. She had finally been told why they never met her other grandparents or why they moved around so much – to protect them all from her Aunts.

But then, in August 1984, they found out that her Uncle Sirius was not bad at all – somebody had lied about him and sent him to jail. And through him, she met a new person. This was a person that everybody who knew of magic knew about – Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. She had been so excited to meet him since then.

But she ended up being thoroughly disappointed. Harry Potter was only a very small boy of four. He came with some of Uncle Sirius' new friends. They were great. They didn't even need to be told that they had to call her Tonks. But Harry Potter, who was supposed to be somebody great if he had defeated You-Know-Who, was just a little boy, one, in fact, who still needed afternoon naps.

Since August she had seen a lot of Harry when Uncle Sirius, once again her favourite and only relative on her mum's side, visited them. Initially unsure what to say to the kid, she had eventually tried to amuse him with all the things she knew to do as a metamorphmagus. That seemed to settle the kid – not that she thought that way. But he was quite cheerful thereafter, and asked far too many questions and was just...a boy!

Thrice, he had even spent time with them over the weekend, while the adults went in a group of three to do something or the other. In that time, she let him play with her toys, she let him read her books, and now he wanted to do everything she did. That was when he became annoying.

"He thinks of you like a big sister, sweetheart," her father had explained with a fond smile.

"But I am not!" she protested.

"Oh but you can be if you want to," he disagreed. "He is your cousin after all. You are the closest he can ever have to a sister."

"But then why does he have to do everything that I do?"

"You do it, so it must be right. He wants to be just like you."

That didn't make sense. Still, she found that when he stuck to her like a burr sometimes when some of her friends from school came home, they found him very cute. He did have his uses.

Whichever way she looked at it though, it seemed she was stuck with him. Little brothers were annoying.

* * *

Many, many years ago, or after about seven years yet to come, Ron remembered the look on Harry's face when he had seen the pile of presents. He had been only eleven then, and he had found the idea that Harry was so surprised by there being any presents for Christmas at all very funny. Now he knew that it was everything but funny. Thankfully, their little Harry had learnt to accept them so thoroughly, that he and Hermione were roused out of their sleep on Christmas morning by a boy bouncing with unbridled excitement.

It was an excitement that they strove to be a part of, but weren't really able to, initially. After all, they did have memories of Hugo and Rose waking them much the same way. But they had put on a happy face for Harry's sake through the week, till they had been pulled right in to the fervour, as Sirius made not-so-secret plans with his godson about ways in which they could prank the presents, Remus very seriously wrapping up the gift Harry had made them all, and planning gifts with Sirius and Harry and Harry and Remus, and with the two men for the remaining respective family member.

More than anything, Ron now also longed for the Christmas jumper that would never come. In all the grief at losing his children, he had not forgotten that he had lost his mother as well. Her scrumptious Christmas cooking, the family being loud like no other, the Christmas crackers at the dining table in the Burrow, the way she hung a stocking for each of them even when they were grown-ups, the kiss she would drop on each of their heads, including Hermione and Harry, on Christmas Day at breakfast...he had learnt to cherish it even more, now that he had lost it.

But as easy as it was to get lost in those memories, he knew he had to make more, in the here and now. And that was what they did, as they truly celebrated the first Christmas their son could remember.

Their gifts to Sirius and Remus were modest – a new shirt for Remus, and Sirius got a biker jacket. It was what fit into their combined pay as an accountant and a tutor (Hermione was never one to sit idle. It helped that the teens she was tutoring, the girls especially, found their tutor's son very adorable. Harry soaked it up).

Harry got two new storybooks to read from Remus, a new flowering pet potted plant (which he was to take care of by himself; it was a compromise they had reached. If he showed he could take care of the plant for two whole years, then they would get him the puppy he so very much wanted, but had only thrice spoken of with a very, very piteous "please". It would also help him with Herbology) and his own ink pen from Ron and Hermione, and a very small bicycle from Sirius (a compromise with Hermione who had stood firm against a toy broom) and a magical colouring book from the Tonkses, who were away on a trip they had planned over six months before.

For old times' sake, Ron also threw in a box of Chocolate Frogs. The absolute delight that the kid felt about the amphibian-shaped confections was a joy to watch.

Sirius and Remus had actually pitched in as far as the idea went while getting gifts for them. Remus had scouted the Weasleys and Grangers, and, as incredibly creepy as it sounded, had prepared an album of the time-displaced duo's childhoods. Sirius on the other hand had gifted them a small pensieve.

"We can't get photographs of your...you know, family," he sheepishly explained. "But at least you can tell us about them."

He had received a strong hug from Hermione, rivalling those that Lily was likely to surprise a person with every once in a while. Lily had, in spite of their many fights and the bickering, often just for the sake of the fights themselves, always been family. Hermione was so like her that Sirius couldn't help but be struck by that feeling of being at home. Everyone was being very grown-up and dredging up memories and becoming all emotional, till as usual, the little kid reminded them of the present.

Sirius had told Harry that he should show his present at the very last, and Remus had helped him wrap it. Remus had even promised Harry that no, he hadn't seen the present at all; not a little peek at it. Of course, he had chanced a very fleeting glance at the present that was a drawing but only as long as it took to cast the charm. He had even explained how he had "avoided seeing it" – the obscuring charm. Harry insisted that he was a big boy and didn't play peek-a-boo, but found it immensely amusing that there was a type of magic that did just that, as Remus gave him the closest analogy. That hadn't actually stopped him from glancing at it and wondering why Harry had drawn a balloon-art figure of a centaur next to something that was standing next to an unexplained, unidentified something.

"So what is my darling boy's present to us?" Hermione asked as she made a production of keeping Harry's gift for the last. She enjoyed watching his anticipation and excitement. Already he was so different from her best friend, and she would not have it any other way. She tried not to be irritated at herself for her reaction to the two times he had been equally excited – both times about getting a broomstick.

"I made it myself!" Harry announced.

"You did? Let us see then." She neatly unstuck all the pieces of cello-tape that kept the modest decorative wrapping paper bound neatly around the A4-sized sheet of paper stiffened with another charm to keep it from crumpling.

She smiled at the drawing as the other adults gathered around her. It was a family picture of them standing outside their cottage, now recently expanded. A woman who was very obviously Hermione (with big brown crayon eyes) and a man who was Ron (blue-eyed of course) were holding Harry's hands and they were all smiling. There was Remus with an extra-long arm slung around Ron's shoulders. And there was the sort-of Centaur figure which, now it was obvious, was supposed to be Sirius.

"Did you like it?" Harry asked with honest and innocent excitement when the adults took a moment to laugh at the drawing that portrayed the now slightly red-faced Sirius Black. Harry jostled to Hermione's side and explained, "This is you, this is dad, this is Uncle Remus and this is Uncle Sirius."

"Why do I have four legs and wheels, Harry?"

"You are changing from dog to man and then you will ride the bike."

"Ah..." was all Sirius could say as he attempted to preserve his dignity. Of course the wheels were for the bike, Harry absolutely loved it. And of course he was midway through an animagus transformation. Harry had to show everything he could understand related to Sirius.

Remus was trying not to break out into rib-rattling laughter. From Harry's point of view, after all, it was completely logical.

"Quite the little artist, my little boy is," Hermione proudly praised. She conjured a frame with the wand Remus had made for her. "See, now we will frame it on the wall." She then proceeded to pepper her child with many kisses.

"I actually like Sirius, the amazing wheeled-centaur, a lot," Ron told the younger man with a completely straight face.

"Anyone tell you that you're a bit of a git, lately?"

"Not lately, no," Ron replied brightly. "Hermione doesn't really say such things to me. It takes time to decipher her words when she insults me. Ignorance is bliss."

"Lucky man," Sirius growled, still not sure whether to scowl or smile at his godson's rendition of him on paper.

Ron, Remus and Hermione just burst out into laughter at that. And they were all his heroes, so Harry emulated them, naturally.

* * *

It was, however, not only immediate family who got Christmas gifts. On Christmas morning, a very old man in a draughty tower in an ancient castle found an innocent-looking gift-box with no name sitting on his table. The man's immortal companion was eyeing with great distaste. Sighing as he anticipated yet another assassination attempt, he cast every kind of detection spell, none of which returned results about anything malicious whatsoever.

Intrigued, Dumbledore opened the box gingerly. Inside was a pair of thick, woollen socks. With a hint of trepidation, for nobody save his brother Aberforth, and his enemy Gellert Grindelwald truly knew about this. Wondering whether Aberforth had been harmed, or whether Gellert had found a medium through which to bring any new nefarious plans to effect, Dumbledore tested the socks as well. They were as inert as the box was.

With trembling hands, he lifted the socks out of the box. They were surprisingly heavy. They carried something within. One of them contained the mangled and melted remains of a locket – the lost locket of Salazar Slytherin, if the serpentine embedment of emeralds was any indication. A note bearing the word "Fiendfyre" was attached to it. Instantly Dumbledore knew what it was. He heaved a sigh of relief and shock – if such a combination was at all possible. He knew the senders. Harry really did have people who truly loved him looking out for him.

The object in the other sock was enclosed inside its accompanying note. It was a small velvet box again. Now knowing the senders, and also understanding why Fawkes had detested the objects, he was unafraid of it.

In handwriting so perfect, it might as well have been printed, was the note to him. It read, "A part of Tom Riddle had this in its possession before he was temporarily defeated. It is time your search ended and you get your peace. Use it well."

The words almost unravelled any peace that Dumbledore might have had. He opened the box to reveal a completely melted, mutilated golden ring, with an unharmed octahedral stone. With a shaking hand he reached out for it. And then there were only three people he would ever call. Fearing that it could all be a horrendous joke which was unlikely, knowing what they had found it to be, or a failed myth, Albus closed his eyes. If it worked, Albus Dumbledore would face his greatest wish and his greatest fear all at once.

Then a tear trickled into his beard as he heard the voice he had longed to hear for so, so many years call his name.

"Albus..."


End file.
